


falling

by ShipperTrash140109



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Fix-It of Sorts, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Gibson's Real Name Is Philippe Hugo Guillet, Hand Jobs, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-War, Quick Burn, Tags Are Hard, Threesome - M/M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, did i say quick burn?, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22067497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShipperTrash140109/pseuds/ShipperTrash140109
Summary: 'Alex is left alone, left to watch his only comrades disappear into the swarms of people. He was going home, but after years spent alone with his empty fucking house, he can’t help but feel he’s just watched one of the only home’s he’s ever had walk out of his life.'What am I now? What am I now?What if I'm someone I don't want around?
Relationships: Alex/Gibson/Tommy (Dunkirk), Gibson/Tommy (Dunkirk)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 62





	1. I. Alex

**Author's Note:**

> this fucking fic is a beast, and i definitely wouldn't have gotten through it without ruby, so to that i offer her my eternal gratitude and love for being my history buff and my proofreader and the person that went 'uh huh okay sure' whenever i went on my bullshit about these three beach boys. i really love you and this wouldn't be a thing if it wasn't for you and i hope you know that.

He can hear the ticking of their time running out as he yells into the boat at the deserter, his lungs burn and he’s smacking a hand on the rising water. Alex should leave him- should let him face penance for abandoning his brothers, those left stranded on the beach, those that are above stripping a dead British soldier and stealing his identity for their own gain.

“Fuck come on! Gibson,” he screams, hands shaking where they clutch the ladder. He heard the bastard start after him, hand tugged on the heavy uniform and felt him move- where the fuck was he? Alex can feel his heart hammering in his throat, and with a string of curses filling the sinking boat, he’s diving into the rush of water.

His uniform is heavy, tugging him downwards with the surge of water, his hands flail in the darkness for something- anything. His muscles scream with each kick, each stroke, and his lungs burn like hell on earth. Each pull of his uniform is taunting him, telling him to turn his stupid arse around and swim for his life to safety, to leave the traitor and go home, the traitor didn’t have a home, not anymore, maybe he deserves it.

Alex feels his fingers brush against a hand, and then he’s pulling, pulling as hard as he can in the heavy blanket of sea water, Gibson grips his uniform hard, trying to pull himself away. Alex pries the desperate fingers from his clothes and crawls, using Gibson as a ladder as he goes deeper and deeper into the water. He can feel his mouth trying to prise itself open, desperate for air that doesn’t exist.

His hands wrap around chains, the metallic clanging as Gibson struggles filling his ears. Alex can feel his fingers pinching and cramping where they fight with the cold metal in the freezing water. With a great pull he yanks the struggling Frenchman in the direction of the chain, and for those few seconds where the tautness goes slack, Alex pulls him free, the chains smacking his wrists one final time as they sink to the bottom of the boat. Gibson swims for the tiny pinhole of light in the top of the boat, and with less than half a lungful of air between the two of them, they swim for their bloody lives.

The two of them break the surface with a spray of water, their arms clawing at the empty air until their mouths could greedily suck in the oxygen they’d been deprived of, Alex’s eyes strain in the gloomy light, the blackness filling his vision dissipating with each thankful breath. Underneath the water, his and the deserter’s legs clash, both of the men clawing at each other’s uniforms as they catch their breath. Alex feels his eyes madly search for something- anything, as soon as he spots the Destroyer, along with the flurry of soldiers from the sunken fishing boat clawing through the water to get to it, his exhausted limbs find the dregs of energy needed for him to start towards it.

_Home, home, nearly fucking there_ is all that registers in his mind as he hauls himself through the water- the exhausted splashing from Gibson close behind him as they swim for the ship. Above him he can hear the roar of planes, the brunet unable to spare a second to check if they’re good or bad in his mad rush for the ship, _so fucking close._

The bomb hits the ship, and everything goes silent, then a deafening ringing fills his head and he can only watch in terror as the Destroyer sinks, behind him he feels a hand grab at his coat for a second- Gibson. When he turns to look at the other man, he can see the same terror in those wide green eyes.

But there’s something else- a blob of colour over Gibson’s shoulder, it’s a boat, a small one, but it’s moving at speed towards them, and Alex can feel his heart hammering to life in his chest at the sight of it. He dives practically over Gibson’s shoulder, swimming towards the approaching vessel with lead-heavy arms, he zeroes in on the shape and all he can call it is tunnel vision as he swims.

Alex barely notices the black oil painting him from head to toe as the Destroyer sinks, the sliminess nothing but an inconvenience as he splashes through the salty water towards the civilian boat, he can barely hear the shrieking of the soldiers on the sinking ship over the persistent ringing filling his head.

His lungs burn with each inhalation of the salty, cold air, muscles he’d never known existed ached as he battles against the water trying to pull him down into the salty depths, the boat comes to a slow stop once it hits the oil, and through the water sent flying by the splash of his arms, he can see multiple figures running around on the vessel. When Alex kicks hard and tries to shout for help, he only flounders, head becoming submerged until he can pull himself to the surface once again, his chest aches as he coughs up water, still struggling to swim with his fatigued limbs.

When he reaches the boat, he feels his fingers slip against the side of it, too slimy with oil to grip anything, and he’s left to battle against the ripples created by the boat for what could’ve been hours with the exhaustion tugging at his body until a young blond man in an Air Force uniform pulls him from the water. Alex scrabbles at his uniform, desperate to get out of the water as he’s pulled, kicking out with his legs until he’s yanked onboard, the pilot quick to let go of him in favour of helping Gibson, along with the steadily approaching groups of drenched soldiers.

All Alex can do is collapse against the wooden floor of the boat, his arms full of jelly and heart beating a tattoo against his ribcage. He’s not sure how long he lays there for before he feels a hand tugging at his uniform- it’s the deserter, he would’ve fought him if he had any fight left in him, his remaining energy left in a puddle on the floor.

By the time Alex struggles to his feet, the boat is quickly filling with more and more soldiers. Alex can hear the old man ordering them below deck, and despite the way his stomach churns at the idea of going below deck ever again, he nods to himself numbly and stumbles down the stairs.

Then comes a shouting, desperate calls from the blond boy in the red sweater, calls for Alex to be careful, and the soldier can only wonder what’s he’s talking about for a second. That’s when his eyes land on the boy.

He feels nothing, an all-encompassing void of emotion as he looks over the body. He must’ve gone only a few minutes ago, his lips are pink and if Alex hadn’t seen so much death, he might’ve assumed the boy was still alive, but there’s no mistaking the stillness of his chest. Alex turns to the boy in the red sweater, and despite feeling like his throat is full of barbed wire, he tells him, tells him the fate of the boy on the floor, and watches as the blond’s world comes crashing down around him.

“So be bloody careful with him,” the boy insists, and Alex can see the absence behind those baby blues, he recognises the feeling of loss, and Alex can do no more than gently push the make shift bed aside and cover the poor lad with a blanket Gibson offers him.

Alex and Gibson are sitting below deck by the covered head of the dead bow when the shouting above starts up, shouting punctuated by the bone rattling engines of warbirds. Alex watches as all the other soldiers packed into the hull look up and around to see their own terror mirrored on every other face.

The shouting grew panicked as the drone of the planes grew louder, and Alex stuck his head between his knees, hands gripping his knotted hair in shaking fingers, he could feel Gibson moving next to him, Alex can’t die- not now, not when he’s so fucking close, close to be freeing of this shitty war. A part of his mind tells him he can never be free, not now, not with everything he’s seen, but it’s pushed aside in favour of the flurry of cursing as a plane soars directly overhead.

The plane sent shockwaves through Alex’s body, his teeth chattering together in his mouth as the boat vibrates with the warbird’s engines, like at any moment the bomb is going to hit and it’s going to be all over, Alex may not have much of a family to go back to, but he’d come too far to die now.

When he hears something hit the water, he’s sure it’s all over- when screams fill the air and the hot reek of burning oil hits his nose and the boat gives a lurch, he’s waiting for the heat, for the heat and the screams to come closer, to swallow the boat and Alex with it, to leave him nothing but a sprinkling of ash in the water, nothing left to remember him by except for his dog tags- least he wouldn’t have to worry about his being pinched by some cowardly French deserter.

But he’s sitting there and suddenly the screams subside, as if dwarfed in volume by distance, and when he looks up everyone is silent, eyes blank, as if some of them can’t believe they survived, as if some of them don’t know what to do because they did.

Alex looks to Gibson, sees the Frenchman has the same glazed look in his eye- going back to a home that isn’t his, a home that never was. Alex feels his brows pinch just by looking at him, what was he to do without a home? He couldn’t bloody well find one, bastard couldn’t even speak a word of English, couldn’t even thank Alex for saving his pathetic arse.

When Tommy climbs down the ladder into the cabin, Alex can feel Gibson shift, sitting up a little straighter, as if seeing his _beloved_ guardian angel made all of this- all of this shit better somehow. When Tommy meets Alex’s gaze, the two men stare at each other, Alex can feel his anger rise up in his chest, anger borne from knowing Tommy would rather save some cowardly frog than his own men, that he’d jump in front of a gun to do it. Knowing Alex saved the bastard only made his blood boil more, and when Tommy nodded at him, Alex could only grit his teeth and nod back.

They’re barely five minutes from the sight of the Destroyer explosion when there comes raised voice from above deck once again- the old man barking orders at who must be his son, the kid in the red sweater, then they hear the drone of a plane, getting closer and closer, and a wave of tension fills the cabin thick enough to be cut with a knife.

The boat gives a lurch as they speed up, and for a moment Alex thinks they’re trying to outrun the plane, outrun the inevitability of what a plane would be hunting them down to accomplish. Alex grips the table leg he’s leant against with shaking hands, squeezing his eyes closed as the sound gets louder and louder, the growl of that bloody engine filling his head and making him feel like he’s spinning, the sound grows unbearably loud and the boat starts shaking, and when Alex hears the ping of bullets and the cracking of wood he thinks it’s over.

But the sound fades, and his head stops spinning and not for the first time that day he thinks he’s been blessed.

Alex is cold, so cold he fears he’ll never be warm again, even pressed against Gibson and surrounded by countless other blokes he feels no warmth, only the silent caress of disbelief.

He only looks up from where he’s staring at his boots when he sees movement- it’s Tommy, and Alex barely hesitates before he too stands up, mindlessly following the other man, he only realises the reason for Tommy’s movement when his eyes land on the cliffs. His mouth falls open slightly, and he can feel Gibson pushing against him to see what’s happening and he can barely hear what the red sweater kid is saying over the ringing plaguing his ears but all he knows is that they’re nearly home, whether that’s Dorset or Dover they’re nearly home.

He looks away from the cliffs as a gnawing feeling of defeat fills him, they’d had their arse’s kicked in France, Alex had nearly died god knows how many times by now and each time had done nothing but scramble for his life like a cockroach when you turn the lights on. Not only that, but he’d saved a coward, he’d spared the life of a deserter who would abandon all of his brothers and his own bloody home for a ticket out. He disgusted himself and he disgusted his country.

“We let you all down, didn’t we?” when he speaks, he can feel the vibrations of his voice in his throat, but the words sound muffled, dulled by the ringing that just wouldn’t fully go away, he can see the lost look on the boy’s face, not unlike the look when he realised his mate was dead- Alex had given him that news too, and now he’d given the boy the realisation that his mate had died for what? The rescue of a bunch of failures, failures that couldn’t save another country let alone their own.

He never got an answer.

It’s dark by the time they arrive at the docks, by the time they’re let off and onto the turf of the country that had so willingly sent them into a bloodbath, Alex knows it’s not his true home, not yet, but stepping onto that dock feels just as bad as it would if he’d lived here his whole life.

He walks with the soldiers towards the station and he feels nothing, he thinks Gibson is with Tommy, but he doesn’t care where the bastard is, not his problem anymore, all Alex wants to do to is curl up and sleep until he gets home to his empty fucking house to match his empty fucking head.

He’s handed a blanket by a bloke that won’t look him in the eyes but will tell him he’s done a good job, and when Alex tells him of their failures, tells him all they did was survive the man says it’s enough and Alex can feel that burning anger flare up inside of him, can feel his teeth grit until he can hear the grinding over the ringing and he fists his hands so hard in the scratchy blanket that his knuckles ache as he walks on- they’re failures, fucking let downs to this entire country.

They file onto the train and Alex collapses heavily onto the seat, resting his weary arms on the table, Tommy is quick to curl up across from him, whilst Gibson hesitates a moment before settling next to Tommy. Alex looks out the window with a tight throat and a heavy heart, “that old bloke wouldn’t even look us in the eye,” he murmurs, looking to Tommy, a small part of him setting aside his residual anger for something, anything that could be mistaken as agreement, as empathy, Alex can feel his eyes prickle as he notices that Tommy won’t look at him either, too caught up on trying to sleep to give a shit about what the bastard that nearly shot the frog has to say.

Alex swallows thickly and stares down at his arms, not even his own comrades would look at him.

Alex wakes to the countryside, to shades of green he hadn’t seen for months, to a brightness he hadn’t seen for even longer. The sight of young boys playing on the tracks has him stumbling to his feet, when he shouts out the window at them, they tell him they’re in Siding, that they’re about to reach Woking station. Alex nods but the words mean little, he’s from the Scottish Lowlands, not bloody Woking. “Grab me one of them papers” he says, and the boy does so with a little encouragement, clambering up the train with a paper in hand, handing it to the soldier before returning to his friend.

Alex sits with a thump, enough to wake up Gibson, who somehow got to sleep despite looking positively wired when they first sat in the train, by this point Tommy is staring at Alex too, silently wondering what devastating news the paper brings.

Alex only manages to read a few lines before it’s too much for him “can’t bear it” he mumbles, sucking in a breath despite the tightness in his throat, he slides it across the table to Tommy, and his request for the other lad to read it is met with only a mimic of his previous words. Alex clenches his jaw, did this kid know nothing? Did he not realise the colossal fucking disaster their whole mission was? They’d been no more than a waste of resources, spending more time waiting to be rescued then they did fighting anyone it felt like. “They’ll be spitting at us in the streets if they’re not locked up waiting for the invasion” _the invasion we did fuck all to stop_.

He can feel Gibson staring at him, staring at him without a clue in the world to the gravity of their mistakes, of their failings. For a moment Alex wishes he could be that clueless.

Tommy only manages the first statement, enough to have Alex shaking his head and bowing to the weight of knowing, knowing how goddamn useless he was- they were. There’s knocking on the glass and he can’t bear it, can’t bear the banging with the ringing and his thoughts screaming at him about his shortcomings, about how he’d let the family he didn’t have down, how he’d let the country he did have down. Tommy continues and Alex keeps his eyes away, mumbling to himself in regret, in fear, and in all the anger- always the anger, at himself, at everyone else, at-

He hears the familiar clink of a bottle and when he looks up there’s smiling faces, and booze he could’ve only dreamt of in fucking France being dangled on the other side of the glass, there’s clapping and when he grasps the three bottles they’re cold, he tosses the two of them to Tommy and Gibson, and when he takes his first sip all he can think is liquid gold.

He sticks his head and arm out the window, quenching a thirst that stretched on months with each pull of his drink. He can hear Tommy continuing to read the paper, but with the shouting and clapping and ringing Alex can barely hear him, when he pulls himself back into the train and looks to Tommy, he can hear the brightness in his voice when he says ‘what?’

Tommy repeats the previous sentence, and Alex almost feels inspired by his words, but then there’s food being handed out outside the train and he’s tuning back out, grabbing what he can with the first smile in months on his face.

Slowly the crowds thin out, and Alex sits back down, claiming the beer Gibson hadn’t touched as he finishes his own, the curly-haired Frenchman has said not a word this whole time, just stared- stared at everything. _Get a good look because you’re never going back_ Alex thinks to himself as he brings the new bottle to his lips.

“I’m getting off after the next five stations,” Tommy announces as he throws the paper down onto the table, staring dully at his untouched bottle. Alex nods as he drinks, the liquor burning his throat not too much but not too little, when he finally puts it down, he nods at the frog as he swallows.

“Whaddya doing with him?” he asks, the cheer from his voice from barely ten minutes ago replaced by a poorly hidden disdain.

He watches as Tommy swallows, looking to Gibson and those scared green eyes, green eyes that would be filled with sand and being picked at by fish by now if it weren’t for Alex. The two men seem to exchange words with nothing but a look, and when Tommy glances back to the highlander he looks nervous “he’s coming with me- I’ll get him sorted out” Alex personally doesn’t care about the deserter- in fact he wouldn’t mind never seeing the bastard again if only to forget that he’d saved such scum of the earth, that he’d risked his life to do it, it was a moment of weakness, and Alex had been having one too many of those moments to want to keep them around.

“Good luck not getting arrested” Alex scoffs, resting back against the seat, he can feel the glare Tommy’s burning into his skull as he looks out the window, and seeing as he’s obviously not getting it here, he resorts to finding solace in his drink as he brings it to his lips yet again.

Tommy gets off, drags the Frenchman after him like a lost puppy, and Alex is left alone, left to watch his only comrades disappear into the swarms of people. He was going home, but after years spent alone with his empty fucking house, he can’t help but feel he’s just watched one of the only home’s he’s ever had walk out of his life.


	2. II. Tommy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Alex may have been a prick and a volatile piece of shit towards the end, but it felt weird leaving him on that train_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to those of you who've left comments thank you so much, i'll get around to responding soon, but know they're incredibly appreciated ❤❤

Alex may have been a prick and a volatile piece of shit towards the end, but it felt weird leaving him on that train, leaving him with nothing but their untouched beer bottles. Tommy should’ve asked him if he wanted to come with them- at least he’d known in his heart he tried to help the bloke. Nobody was that angry, that unpredictable by nature, they’d all been to war, they knew it did things to men- if you could call them that- and Alex had never mentioned family on the beach, not like Tommy had, wishing the best for his siblings, for his mother, praying to empty skies that they be looked after wherever they are, he’d talked about wanting drinks, being thirsty for something his canteen couldn’t offer him even when full.

Tommy shakes his head as he battles through the crowd with Gibson, he knows where he’s going, even months after being home, he can feel the streets coming back to him as he breaks through the flock of people. Behind him he can feel Gibson gripping the hem of his jacket, clinging to him as the crowds threatened to swallow him up.

Tommy feels bad for the bloke, not understanding anything that’s going on around him and having to rely on others just to survive. He reaches back and grabs Gibson’s wrist as they manoeuvre through the remaining crowd, when they finally break free, the Frenchman still doesn’t let go, sticking close by Tommy’s side as they walk down the street.

He’d much prefer taking a bus to the nearest stop to his house, but with barely a penny between them until he got home, the two men would have to settle for walking, it wasn’t far, but when you’re weak and hungry from months of war and have a cough that keeps persisting it would feel like miles.

“I’m sorry about France” Tommy mumbles as they make their way along the street towards Tommy’s home. He knows Gibson doesn’t know what he’s saying, but he can’t leave it swimming around in his brain for forever. “I don’t know what you’re going to do but for now you can stay with me,” it would be unnerving how quiet Gibson was if it weren’t for the fact that every time Tommy looks at him, he sees so much raw emotion in those wide green eyes that it’s almost too much. Tommy frowns as he walks down the street, chewing the inside of his lip a moment before turning to Gibson, holding an oil-stained hand “Tommy,” he states.

Gibson looks from the hand to Tommy, the two men coming to a stop, when they shake hands Gibson’s palm is hot against the other man’s and Tommy almost jumps at the temperature difference, “Philippe” he mumbles, a curl to his lips forming and for the life of him Tommy can’t decide whether it’s forced or not. He decides it doesn’t matter.

The longer they walk, the more Tommy feels like his own chest is caving in, and for a while he tries to fight back the itching feeling building at the base of his throat, the irritating sensation slowly working up until he could no longer fight it off. He stumbled as he began coughing into his covered elbow, as he hacked into the material, he felt a pair of hands on him, holding him steady, his skin tingling under the contact like Gibson- or Philippe, rather was full of electricity.

When at last he could breathe again without doubling over, he clung to the other man for a second, sucking in air through gritted teeth, he felt wet and clammy despite his uniform having dried a long time ago, “sorry” he rasped, trying to drag his feet in the direction of his house. Philippe was less certain to get moving again, but when he did, he refused to remove his hand from Tommy’s wrist, his warm fingers felt like a branding iron against Tommy’s cold skin, and he found that he didn’t mind getting burned by it all that much.

When he got home, he found the spare key still hidden under the pot of a long dead plant. Tommy couldn’t help but grimace as he ran his fingers over the withered leaves, that had been one of his mother’s favourites- not that it mattered now, wartime abandonment didn’t pick favourites.

The air in the house is musty and old when he lets himself in, and Tommy finds himself sucking in a breath, frozen in the doorway, in all his life he’d never seen the house this empty- this barren, the furniture that remained looks drained of colour and sad, like all the happiness in the house disappeared with his family. He walks in numbly, staring around at his home with wide eyes, how could home feel so far from it? He turned to face Philippe, who was stood timidly in the doorway, staring around with a cautious wideness to his eyes.

“Come on,” Tommy says, and his voice sounds deafening in the silence of the building, despite it being no more than a whisper. Philippe takes a few timid steps inside, whilst Tommy was finally home, Philippe had never been further from it.

Tommy makes his way up the stairs, fingertips brushing the walls as he makes his way to his room, the one he’d left to defend his country, the room that held so many memories but was now just as empty and silent as the rest of the house.

He can hear Philippe behind him, hovering in the doorway, watching- always watching. Tommy shrugs his blouse off of his shoulders, the heavy, oil-blackened material hitting the floor with a quiet thunk, the lightness of his limbs apparent as he shrugs his shoulders, shuffling over to his now dusty dresser and pulling some clothes out- the quicker they got out of the uniform the quicker they could try and forget the horrors attached to the heavy green wool.

He thrusts an outfit into Philippe’s hands, the Frenchman wearing a look of surprise as his fingers curl around the softer material, Tommy wraps a hand around the other man’s elbow as he shows him to the bathroom. Philippe hadn’t scrubbed his face clean of the oil yet, not like Tommy had, the curly-haired man wore the grime like a mask still, forever trying to hide the fact that the name dangling from his neck was not his.

Tommy let himself wander the remaining rooms of the house after he’d left Philippe to shower, ditching his boots by the foot of his bed to feel the familiar carpet beneath his socked feet. There wasn’t much left in the way of food, the fridge was empty, but the cupboards had a small volume of miscellaneous canned food, Tommy supposed it would be enough to last the two of them at least two days until they’d have to start worrying.

Tommy pulled a glass from the cupboard, filled it with tap water and drank three or four full glasses before he could even consider stopping, he was parched, and his body craved it like he’d never see it again. In fact, for a while, he’d thought he wouldn’t, surrounded by that vast body of water that he couldn’t even consider drinking, left with nothing but dribbles from the bottom of canteens. Now with it right there in front of him he couldn’t imagine ever putting it down.

When Philippe appeared out of the bathroom, cheeks pink and skin clean of oil and grit, curly hair dripping onto his clothed shoulders, Tommy could only stare for a moment. The shirt was too tight around the chest and the pants too tight around the hips but in all his time knowing the other man he’d never looked so comfortable. Tommy took the pile of heavy uniform from the other man and placed it in a pile by his dresser, tomorrow he’d fold it, do something with it, but for now they’d remain like that.

He’d shared a room with his little brother, their beds on opposing sides of the room, Tommy gestured to his brother’s bed, pressing his lips together for a moment, sliding a hand up over his face, he’d learnt French in school, surely, he could remember some of it. He stared at Philippe and Philippe stared back, shuffling his feet under the other man’s gaze. “Pour…toi?” he starts, pointing to the bed, the other man stares at him for a minute before his gaze flicks to the bed and then back.

“Oui?” Philippe replies, sounding a little unsure, the excited grin that makes its way onto Tommy’s face probably doesn’t help.

He points again to the bed, “pour toi, oui?” he reaffirms, and Philippe nods, repeating himself, voice surer as he makes his way to where Tommy is standing.

“pour moi merci,” he states with a grin similar to Tommy’s. After months of being kicked down and listening to Alex waxing poetry about their failure on the train, being able to tackle the simplest of communication with his new companion feels like a spirit restoring victory.

Although, it’s cut short a second later by a hacking cough, one that makes Tommy’s chest ache like it’s about to split open, and every breath he sucks in only brings on more coughing until he feels like his lungs are going to crumble to dust inside him. Philippe is holding onto him again and all Tommy can do is lean into him until he stops spluttering. As he catches his breath, he utters a ‘bloody hell’ under his breath, still gasping for air almost half a minute after he stops coughing.

Philippe grabs the clothes Tommy had set aside for himself off of the dresser, helping the young Brit to the bathroom, he’s mumbling things quietly to Tommy as they move but over the thump of his own heart and the sound of his own heavy breathing, he can barely make out the soft words.

“Bien?” Philippe asks as they step into the bathroom, Tommy nods but he must look out of it because then there’s fingers softly tugging his button-up from his trousers and undoing each button one by one. Tommy shakes his head, embarrassment heating his cheeks and he paws at the other man’s fingers, but Philippe pulls them away and pushes them down to Tommy’s sides, looking up at him with a firm stare “non, laisse moi te reposer.”

Tommy can only make out the first bit, _no, let me_ but it’s enough to make him obey, standing there and starting to shiver as more and more of his skin is uncovered with each button, he felt cold but his skin felt slick and clammy after the coughing fit, and as Philippe’s fingertips brushed up over his scrawny chest, covered only by his grimy singlet, he could feel the ache under the skin, an ache that made him grit his teeth and clench his fists.

Philippe slides the button-up off his shoulders carefully, and Tommy thinks he’s about to remove the singlet too when he instead drops his hand to the heavy trousers. The brunet swallows thickly as he watches the thick pants get slowly undone and then pushed down his pale, stick-like legs. He’s left standing there with no more than a singlet and his boxers to cover him, his socks saving his toes from the cool bite of the tiles another exception. He doesn’t miss the sweep of Philippe’s eyes over him, “bien?” he asks, and Tommy nods, the other man pressing his lips together in a shy smile before retreating from the bathroom, closing the door with a quiet click behind him.

Tommy pulls his remaining clothes off, the cold tiles making his feet feel numb as he steps under the shower head, he feels disgusting, and not just because of the build up of sweat, oil and dirt on his skin, he feels exhausted and when the warm spray of the water hits him, he turns from too cold to too hot, his head spinning like at any moment his legs would give out from under him.

He decides to sit down in the tub, slowly pulling his fingers through his hair and watching the water turn brown as it flows down the drain, all the soaps and products that had one adorned the bathroom are gone, nothing but Tommy’s old toothbrush left on top of the counter. After languishing in dirt and grime for so long, Tommy couldn’t bring himself to care about the lack of bodywash.

The warmth of the water helps Tommy’s aching chest, and despite how out of breath he feels simply after standing up and getting out of the tub, he feels the most comfortable he’s ever felt, at least since Dunkirk.

When he steps out into the hallway, his old clothes soft against his skin and his uniform heavy in his arms, he notices Philippe, sitting cross-legged by the hallway. When Tommy lays eyes on him, he looks like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Bien?” Tommy asks, and watches as Philippe’s eyes go from worried to relieved.

“Oui.”

Tommy dumps his uniform on top of Philippe’s on the floor, before he crouches down to rifle through the bottom drawer on his dresser. After reaching around for a few moments, his fingers brush a box, he pulls it from the drawer and runs his thumb across it. It’s only small, a bit bigger than his palm, but it looks the same as it did before Tommy left for Dunkirk, looks the same as it did when his dad made it for him all those years ago.

He can hear the squeak of springs and knows Philippe has sat himself on his new bed. Tommy lets a smile curl his mouth as he pops open the box, it’s his savings- a mix of pocket money and money he’d put aside from his old job, enough to keep them alive until Tommy can get a new job- maybe even Philippe if he can learn some English- were they taught English in French schools?

Tommy shrugs the thought off as he flips through the money, nodding to himself slightly. He’d go out later, buy some essentials and maybe even food that isn’t canned for dinner, it was time to start over, at least until if the army came knocking again.

Tommy pockets some of the bills and pulls a pair of shoes from a basket next to the dresser, he can feel Philippe watching him. He turns, holding up all ten of his fingers, “dix minutes” he explains, before pointing to himself and then the direction of the front of the house. Philippe looks confused for a moment, but then there’s realisation in his eyes and he nods.

“à bientôt, Tommy” Philippe states, and Tommy feels bad for leaving him alone like this in an unfamiliar place but if they want to live with even the barest comfort, he needs to go shopping, and what with Philippe being a French deserter, the more time he spends out of the open the better.

Tommy didn’t get to the grocer’s as quick as he would’ve liked, even fast walking made his chest ache and left him gasping for air, the last thing he wanted was to keel over on the sidewalk with a pocket full of money, he didn’t have his .303 to save him anymore- not that it did much saving in the first place.

He decides against fresh food, his future income was unpredictable, and the bit of his savings in his pocket feels like the only money he’ll ever have as he hands some of it over for the essentials- canned and dry food, another cheap toothbrush and the cheapest toothpaste he could find- it’ll probably taste like shit but it was what it was.

He’d been ready to start the slow walk home when he’d spotted the bookshop across the road, Tommy stared it down for what could’ve been five minutes before he felt his feet moving him across the road and into the small shop. When he placed the French-English dictionary on the counter, the older woman processing his purchase wore a suspicious look on her face, and all Tommy could do was force a smile and thank her before trying to exit the shop as quick as possible with both arms weighed down by heavy bags and a pair of lungs that wouldn’t stop trying to cough themselves up.

Philippe had looked almost shocked when Tommy placed the book in front of him- the curly-haired man had been studying a folded, mangled looking photo at the dinner table when Tommy returned, the cigarette tin it must have been sitting in for protection sitting opened by Philippe’s hands. The photo had been stared at for a moment longer before it was pressed into the tin in favour of the book.

Tommy could hear him flicking through it as he put the groceries and the toothbrush and paste away. The dictionary had used up all but a few cents of the money he’d had remaining after the groceries and Tommy was sure to put the remaining change with the rest of his savings before he claimed a seat next to Philippe.

He’d never been taught how to use this kind of dictionary, but it couldn’t be that hard, surely. For a long while he just watched Philippe flip his way through, neither spoke, and Tommy found comfort in the silence, found comfort in watching those green eyes sweep the pages like he was bursting for knowledge, and when Tommy inched his chair closer, he found comfort in the warmth that radiated off of Philippe’s skin.

When Philippe finally spoke, Tommy almost jumped, the silence in the room filled by the unsure, accented voice of the other man. “Friend?” he said, and the pronunciation was off, but Tommy felt a grin stretch across his face all the same.

“Yeah, friend” he confirmed, and when Philippe smiled back at him, Tommy wasn’t sure if his chest ached in pain or in something else.


	3. III. Tommy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Tommy’s his second drink in when he notices someone in the corner of the bar that makes his heart sink- it can’t be, why would they be here?  
>  It’s Alex, wearing a shirt that’s buttoned incorrectly and a gaunt look on his face that suggests he hadn’t had an ounce of sleep since he got off the train all those weeks ago._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, a lot happens in this chapter, quite a bit of time passes between this and the last, so apologies if pacing is off or just this whole chapter feels different, it should straighten back out quickly.

“Going down the pub after work, be home a bit later,” Tommy states as he pulls on a shirt in the small space of their room. It had been a few weeks since they’d returned to British soil, and despite the two other bedrooms in the house Philippe hadn’t bothered claiming his own room, what had been a decision for the sake of the Frenchman’s security had turned into a conscious choice to stay as together as they could, even in sleep. Tommy hadn’t commented on it and things remained that way.

Philippe hums on the other side of the room, and Tommy isn’t sure if he fully understood the whole sentence, but the other man doesn’t ask him to resay it, so he doesn’t bother.

Whether the army thought he was dead or if he’d somehow flown under the radar, they hadn’t chased him down and he hadn’t been fit for service anyway, the evident pneumonia had knocked him relatively on his arse until well into the second week, and had left him housebound for that space of time, only leaving to drag himself to the shops for food. It may not have been good for his savings, spending without earning, but it had been good for Philippe, who would make tea and sit himself next to Tommy on the couch with the dictionary open and run through words until Tommy would fall asleep around lunchtime. He’d wake to whatever meal Philippe could construct with their cupboards full of canned and dry food and then they’d run words until it was dark out.

He’d picked up English rather quickly, no doubt thanks to the sheer amount of time he got with his very own Englishman to help him tackle the dictionary. Sometimes Tommy would confuse him, pronounce something weird or use slang or just let his accent get too thick and Philippe would get confused and Tommy would have to reiterate, but other than that they were getting along fine with what had at first seemed like an uncrossable bridge in their companionship.

After Tommy could walk faster than a shamble without exhausting himself, he started looking around for a job, and he found one relatively quickly- no doubt thanks to the gap in the employment where all the able young men were currently off fighting Britain’s battles. The man who hired Tommy had seemed suspicious at first as to why Tommy was even here to get a job in the first place, but the brunet just assumes the employer was so in need of workers he overlooked the suspiciousness of it all.

Philippe was pressing for a job, said he didn’t feel right freeloading or ‘being useless’ as he’d said, Tommy couldn’t exactly disagree, but it felt dangerous letting him out there looking like he did sounding like he did. Tommy had managed to convince him to let it wait but for how long he wasn’t sure.

There was a strange feeling between them- Tommy could never put his finger on it, they slept in the same room, got dressed in the same room in the morning, they would sit against each other on the couch, make each other tea, when their hands brushed if they sat too close neither would withdraw- neither would even consider doing such a thing. Tommy found Philippe’s mood could be entirely read through his eyes most of the time, and he’d gotten good at reading the other during the shaky stages of Philippe’s entrance into the English language. But when their eyes met across the table at dinner, when they’d meet each other’s gaze getting dressed in the morning, when Philippe would straighten Tommy’s outfit in the mornings before the latter went to work, it was an emotion unlike any Tommy had ever seen on the man, and it confused the shit out of him.

He’d think about it- about him, at night, would glance over at the sleeping man across the room and think of how warms his hands are when they brush, would think of the lines around his mouth that formed before he’d smile, think of Philippe’s hair when he’s fresh out the shower, each little droplet that slid down beneath the collar of his shirt making Tommy’s heart churn. That’s when he’d roll onto his stomach and ignore everything, just focus on breathing through the thin material of his pillowcase and not the tingling, burning sensation filling his body. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what the look in Philippe’s eyes meant, wasn’t sure if he could handle it if he found out.

When Tommy pulls his coat on by the door, Philippe walks over like he does every morning, placing his black tea on the table as he does, that same unreadable expression in his eyes as he straightens Tommy’s collar and pushes his hair from his eyes. Tommy can feel his warm breath on his cheek and can make out every ripple of colour in his eyes and when he lets a hand brush Philippe’s waist the other does nothing but quirk the corner of his mouth and open the door for him.

Tommy can feel the hot tingling in his skin and the pit of his belly but this time there’s no pillow to smother himself with.

He’s not excited about leaving Philippe alone for even longer than he already does, but he’d be an idiot to pass up a chance to get to know his workmates, besides, what harm could a drink do? Tommy deserved it, serving the country and that.

Tommy’s his second drink in when he notices someone in the corner of the bar that makes his heart sink. His colleagues are laughing and talking with animated vigour but it all sounds muffled as Tommy focuses in on the person- it can’t be, why would they be here?

It’s Alex, wearing a shirt that’s buttoned incorrectly and a gaunt look on his face that suggests he hadn’t had an ounce of sleep since he got off the train all those weeks ago.

Tommy watches him over the rim of his glass, the liquor is shit but he hadn’t wanted to waste his money on some fancy scotch when it could be spent on food, so he supposes it’s his own fault. He can’t tear his eyes off of the other man, and he knows it must look strange, but he hopes the fact that his workmates know his story that they won’t question it- not that they’d notice, they’re all so wrapped up in whatever story they’re all telling.

Tommy isn’t sure how long he’d been staring before Alex tips back the rest of his drink, slides the bottle to a significant group of similar bottles in the middle of the table and gets up, Tommy can see the curling ink of a tattoo poking out from the collar of his shirt, with more twisting around his wrist barely hidden by the long sleeves. Tommy swallows as the brunet stumbles out of the bar, shoulder banging against the doorframe as he goes.

Before Tommy really knows what he’s doing he’s getting to his feet, excusing himself from the group, though he’s not sure many of them notice nor care as he quickly makes his way out. The cold outside air hits him like a brick as he crosses his arms over his chest, eyes flickering around to try and find out where that highlander bugger went.

He finds him trying to light a smoke in an alley next to the pub, but with the no doubt unsafe amounts of liquor in his system he can’t line up the flame from the lighter with the end of the cigarette, a cigarette which falls onto the wet cobbles the second his eyes register on Tommy.

“You’re alive?” Alex asks, his voice wobbles, the tone changing with almost every syllable, and Tommy makes a weird face.

“Why wouldn’t I be alive?”

“Thought they- they would’ve got ya- tried t’get me” the longer he talks, the less and less sober he sounds, and even two meters away Tommy can smell the reek of booze on his breath. Tommy isn’t even sure how he’s still standing- still breathing, with how many bottles he’d drank, how many had been left at the table, though he supposes Alex has had weeks to build his tolerance back up after the battle of Dunkirk. _Time well spent_ Tommy thinks sarcastically, but the thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth and a hard hitting feeling of sympathy for the other man.

“They never came looking- glad to see you’ve been spending your time constructively” Tommy mumbles, and despite the nagging feeling of sympathy, every time he meets those green eyes- so unlike Philippe’s, he sees the look of savagery Alex had worn when he shoved the barrel of a gun to Philippe’s face and demanded he get out the boat or taste gunpowder.

“They said we was ‘eroes” Alex announces, pushing off the wall of the pub he’d been leant against, almost falling over as he makes his way towards Tommy. “We wasn’t, the only thing I saved was that fucking frog- wish I was the one stuck in them chains sometimes” Tommy can barely breath through the rankness of Alex’s breath, and when he sticks out a hand against Alex’s chest to put distance between them, the brunet stares at the point of contact blankly. “Waste of ma fuckin’ time, was a waste of th’ countries time.”

“Alex you’re not okay, you need-”

“Need what? To get adopted by you and that fucking coward? Tha’ fuckin’” Alex started out strong, but then his face drains of all the colour and Tommy can barely jump back quick enough before Alex’s emptying his stomach onto the pavement, the Englishman continuing to back up until his shoes are no longer in danger.

“Bloody hell, Alex” he sighs, staring at the back of Alex’s head where the latter is bent over the puddle of vomit, before carefully making his way around the mess to wrap an arm around the brunet’s waist, propping a tattooed arm across his own scrawny shoulders. It seems Alex’s lunch and a case’s worth of whiskey wasn’t the only thing Alex threw up, because he allows Tommy help him out of the alley and onto the street without a word.

Tommy doesn’t know what he’s going to do with Alex, but he knows that if he’d just abandoned him, he would’ve kicked himself for the rest of his life- so for now, Alex can stay the night just so Tommy knows he’s safe, and in the morning? He’ll cross that hurdle when he gets to it.

The walk home was already a trek and a half, but with Alex hanging off of him and making noises that don’t sound remotely human it feels like an eternity until the house comes into view through the darkness, the lights in the kitchen are on and he can see the dictionary still sitting on the dining table through the window.

Tommy kicks the door lightly, calling out for help and only has to balance Alex, who is leaning every which way, for a few moments before the door opens to reveal the confused and almost shocked stare of Philippe.

“He’s had a lot to drink I couldn’t leave him there” Tommy groans, hauling the taller man through the doorway into the house. He hears Philippe respond with a ‘pardon?’ as they pass and Tommy sighs, tensing and untensing his jaw as he drags Alex further into the house whilst trying to reword his previous statement. “He’s intoxicated, uh, pas bien!” Tommy calls as he starts on trying to help Alex up the stairs, sometimes he found scraping together the little French he knew was easier than hoping whichever word he used would translate.

Philippe watches from the bottom of the stairs silently, and only follows Tommy up when the latter calls out for help rolling Alex onto his side. He silently apologises to his sister as he lays the drunk brunet down, pulling both of the man’s shoes off before Philippe appears and hesitantly helps roll Alex so he won’t die in his sleep.

When Tommy quietly closes the door on the well and truly unconscious Alex, he turns to find Philippe staring at him from the other side of the hall, Tommy can feel his heart speed up at the reappearance of the unreadable look on his face. “Bien?” Philippe asks, and Tommy nods, the other man had learnt the English word long ago, but this had stuck, and the use of it brings an apologetic smile onto Tommy’s face. “If you were… were planning to bring somebody home- should have told me” it’s always fascinating to watch Philippe stringing sentences together, watch him put the pieces together in his head and see the glimmer of victory when it made sense to him, but this time it’s hilarious, and Tommy feels the laughter in his chest and it burst free from him like it’s the first and last joke he’ll ever hear, across the hall Philippe is grinning and then he’s walking towards Tommy and his hands are warm against Tommy’s lower back and elbow as he take’s the brunet away from Alex’s room. “You will wake le trou du cul” he whispers, and Tommy can only press his face to Philippe’s clothed shoulder to try and muffle his laughter, their legs knocking together as they stumble into their room.

Tommy falls back onto his bed, his chest still shaking in laughter- he hadn’t laughed in so long that now he’s started, it’s like he has to catch up on lost time or something, he can barely remember if Philippe’s joke was even that funny, all he knows is that laughing feels good.

“Shh!” Philippe hisses as he closes the door to their room, crossing the room quietly, “he will be mad if he wakes up” Philippe threatens, and the thought of Alex trying to fight anyone in his current state brings a new wave of uncontrollable giggling, by this point his face aches from smiling and he has to gasp in air between laughs. “Tommy!” Philippe whispers, and then the bed is dipping and there’s a palm pressed over Tommy’s mouth, if the palm hadn’t silenced him, the moment he realises how close they are sure does. He can feel Philippe’s knees where they bracket his hips, and the palm against his mouth smells like the bar of soap in the shower. They’re both staring silently into each other’s eyes and Tommy doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he rests one on Philippe’s shoulder and the other wraps around the wrist of the hand pressed to his face.

Something passes between them, a switch flicks behind both men’s eyes and then the hand on Philippe’s shoulder is sliding up to grab the back of his neck and then the Frenchman is being pulled down until the palm moves and their lips meet in a messy collision of mouth and teeth. Tommy had kissed girls before, but war had him out of practice, and he internally winces every time their teeth clack, or his lips moved weirdly against the other man’s. Although he notices neither of those things stop Philippe from kissing back just as feverishly.

Philippe’s knees slide back against the quilt, shifting until one of his legs rests slotted between Tommy’s, they’re pressed together from head to toe and Tommy has never been happier to feel so alive, his hands run down the planes of Philippe’s back, over the jut of his shoulder blades and the shifting muscles around there, he can feel the dimples at Philippe’s lower back through the thin material of the other man’s pyjama shirt and he hums against his roommates mouth. Now he’s had a taste of the other man, he could never imagine going without it.

They fall asleep on top of each other and Tommy has never felt warmer.


	4. IV. Philippe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Fuck” the highlander groaned, and Philippe felt his skin crawl with what felt like pins and needles. Before he learnt anything, he learnt that the word ‘fuck’, wasn’t good. It’s what English soldiers said before bombs poked holes in the beach, it’s what he highlanders said when German bullets poked holes in the trawler. It’s what Alex said before he stuck the barrel of a .303 in my face._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE EXPLICIT RATING COMES INTO PLAY AT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER
> 
> again, last chapter was a trainwreck and i apologise bc wow idk what happened there, i hope this chapter isn't as bad, please enjoy

For a moment, Philippe tells himself this is the nicest way to wake up- in a cool room under the covers with Tommy tucked against his chest- and it was until Philippe heard the thunder of panicked footsteps in the hall outside their room, along with a loud shouting that made Philippe grit his teeth. He looked down when he felt Tommy shifting, the other man groaning at the noise, his hair a stark contrast to the white of Philippe’s sleepshirt as Tommy nuzzles his face into the other man’s chest.

Sleeping in the same room together, Philippe had learnt Tommy slept heavily, but today he was clambering off of Philippe and out into the hallway after the stranger in their house barely five seconds after blinking open his eyes.

Walking towards the door to their room, the curly-haired man carefully pushed it open, stepping out into the hall and moving to stand by the doorway to the bathroom. Alex was on his knees in front of the toilet, chin resting on the seat and Tommy standing behind him, a long-fingered hand resting on his shoulder. Philippe felt an uncomfortable pang of something form heavily in his stomach for a moment, but he was distracted from the feeling by the unholy retching sounds Alex was making into the bowl.

“Fuck” the highlander groaned, and Philippe felt his skin crawl with what felt like pins and needles. Before he learnt anything, he learnt that the word ‘ _fuck’_ , wasn’t good. It’s what English soldiers said before bombs poked holes in the beach, it’s what he highlanders said when German bullets poked holes in the trawler. _It’s what Alex said before he stuck the barrel of a .303 in my face._

Philippe feels hesitant to leave Tommy with the other man, but his desire to seek comfort in their morning processes is enough to have him moving down the stairs and into the kitchen. As he fills the kettle he lets his mind drift back to last night, how alive Tommy felt under him, how the hysterical quaking of his chest filled Philippe’s body with a fuzzy warmth, how as they fell asleep he expected to feel this chasm of uncertainty opening up between them, but instead felt like they were closer than ever, souls intertwined by the long-awaited acknowledgement of everything between them that both had been too cautious to bring to fruition before then. A closeness that had been brewing since the moment they lay eyes on one another on the beach had still managed to sneak up on him last night- it had all been so sudden, but maybe that’s just what they’d needed.

Alex represented the divide- the distance they’d put between them to keep themselves and each other safe. Again, they’d felt it on the beach the first time their eyes met- that almost palpable sense of belonging next to each other- and then there’d been that angry, green-eyed soldier they’d pulled up onto the side of the mole, Philippe had looked at Alex then, near-drowned but full of fire and he knew it’d been over, companionship had turned to group survival, he and Tommy’s bubble had been burst, and now it seems history was repeating itself and Alex was it’s medium.

Then there was shouting from upstairs, and after pulling the kettle from the stove Philippe felt himself moving up the stairs, fingers and toes buzzing and prickles clawing their way up his back with each step. They were in the hall, Alex was shouting, and Philippe had never noticed the height divide up until now, Tommy looked dwarfed by the other man, through Alex’s accent and the volume of his voice Philippe could only make out choice words.

“Don’t need you” “not your wife” “can take care of myself” Philippe didn’t need the other words to know what Alex was mad about, what made his fists clench and shake by his sides. Tommy looked in a word, terrified by the man, his voice almost inaudible under Alex’s outrage.

Then Alex was turning, turning and stomping down the hall towards where Philippe stood at the top of the stairs. Their eyes met as Alex shoved past him, the word ‘frog’ leaving his mouth with a harsh growl, Philippe didn’t need English lessons to know it wasn’t a good word.

When the front door slammed so hard it shook the house, Philippe made his way over to where Tommy was still curled in on himself against the wall. “Bien?” Philippe asked, and Tommy didn’t respond, just pushed off the wall and into Philippe’s arms. Philippe could feel the sadness in the shudder’s rocking the smaller man’s body, how he clung to the Frenchman like a child does when they’re reunited with their mother after being lost. The chasm had left with a bang and Tommy was left finding his way back to their oasis.

“I just wanted to help,” Tommy murmured into Philippe’s shirt, and the latter hummed back, he knew Tommy was haunted by those he couldn’t help- by the man they’d carried to the ship on a stretcher, the ship that claimed the man and instead gave them Alex as it sunk, the chasm, the divide. Tommy had woken up in a cold sweat before, shouting words Philippe couldn’t understand but he knew the sound of regret, of trying to help someone and failing when he heard it. Alex was what they were offered, Tommy’s second chance at saving someone, and yet Philippe had been the one that saved the green-eyed highlander on more than one occasion, now that it was Tommy’s turn it had seemed, he had failed. Once half-closed wounds were again opened.

“You cannot help if he does not want it” Philippe whispered into Tommy’s hair- it was unwashed from yesterday- the rescue of Alex and the two roommates evolution into something more had gotten in the way of hygiene, but none of that mattered to Philippe- he’d seen the other man in much worse shape than that.

Philippe helped the crestfallen man down the stairs and into the kitchen- the tea was still hot when he poured it, and Tommy took it without hesitance when it was offered, sipping at it slowly as he stared at the closed door. Philippe knew he felt guilty, guilty to leave Alex out on his own- Tommy was loyal, and Philippe had noticed it wasn’t always for the best.

“I’ll check the pub after work,” Tommy stated, not looking at Philippe, who sat on the opposite side of the table with an unsure purse to his lips. “He needs us- he does,” the Frenchman sighed, placing his cup down, he opened his mouth to say the other’s name but was quickly cut off. “I know he’s- he’s stupid and angry but he’s our friend” he started, a fire in his voice that Philippe had only ever heard one other time- in the trawler, cornered by angry highlander’s and desperate, so desperate to save someone who couldn’t even understand the accusatory words being thrown at him. “We can’t abandon him, I saw him- he was a mess, he thinks he’s failed the country… failed us” Philippe missed the middle of the sentence, Tommy’s voice picking up with determination before slowing down towards the end, but he knew what he was saying. “He saved you” Tommy points out, and Philippe swallows thickly. Without Alex they wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t have their own oasis, Philippe would be at the bottom of the sea, and Tommy would be just as lonely as Alex is.

Neither man said anything, but they understood, understood the need to help their comrade, their comrade who’d made the brutalist of calls in the moment of life or death, but had still risked his own life to save the man he’d thought of as a coward. Who were they to sentence him to his own miserable doom if they didn’t go back for him as Alex had once gone back for Philippe?

Tommy left for work, Philippe kissed him softly on the lips before he opened the door, it was the first time he’d done that, but it felt like they’d been doing it every day of their life. Philippe watched him walk down the path through their small front yard and watched that dark mop of hair disappear around the corner, smiled to himself softly before softly pushing the door closed with a click.

When Philippe got bored, he wrote, wrote as if there was someone on the other side receiving his words, he imagined writing to his mother- wherever she was. Sometimes he wrote to Tommy, saying all the things in his native tongue he couldn’t say out loud, today he wrote to Alex, the tight neatness of his first language inked into paper felt like an old friend as he wrote.

_You saved me when I represent everything you fear. You saved a deserter and returned to a country you let down, you rescued desertion, rescued failure, and in turn came home to the reality that your suffering, your life was no more than a disaster to the country you call your own. I have also failed my country, when you saved me, I survived to realise that the helplessness of myself and my comrades left my home, my nation to be overrun by the enemy. We have both failed, but you have the option to move on; why squander it at the bottom of a bottle?_

He grits his teeth as he sits back against the chair- there comes a strange ambiguous churning in his stomach whenever he thinks about Alex- about how they’re so similar and so different- how he wants Alex to be okay for Tommy’s sake and then for Philippe’s own sake. To see Alex dig himself out of his own hole is to see they made it- they both survived their terrible circumstances, that after saving each other more than once it wasn’t all for nothing.

He fears Alex as much as he needs him- needs him to be okay.

Tommy comes home empty-handed, stopping to press a kiss to Philippe’s cheek before disappearing to go shower, Philippe busies himself with dinner, they’d been eating better thanks to Tommy’s job, and Philippe can see it when he showers- his shoulders broad like they were before the war, his ribs don’t jut out anymore, sometimes he swears his skin’s brighter. He’s seen the changes in Tommy too- how firm and filled out he felt against the Frenchman last night, especially when compared to that first night in the house, Philippe carefully undressing him after Tommy exhausted himself coughing against the fluid in his lungs, he’d been sickly pale then, cold and sweaty and his bones had stuck out every which way.

_Not anymore,_ Philippe thinks as he sets the table, _not anymore_.

Philippe showers after dinner, and he can feel Tommy’s gaze on him as he walks up the stairs, feels it again as exits their room with pyjamas in hand and enters the bathroom. He wonders what’ll happen when he leaves the bathroom, wonders what’ll happen tonight with the house empty and all those brimming feelings coming to light between them. During the war he’d thought he was broken, wouldn’t be able to see through all the horrors filling his head to ever feel something like he feels now.

That night, he and Tommy pile into bed together again, when they kiss Philippe can feel Tommy’s mouth curl into a smile, and when he lets a thumb slide up over the other man’s cheek, he can feel it, feel the warmth of his skin and the line in his cheek from the smile. There are hands in his hair and Philippe can tell he could fall asleep from that sensation alone. Philippe doesn’t miss the ephemeral thought that he’s never craved closeness like he does now, whether it’s from Tommy or from everything that’s gone on he’s unsure, but now with their bodies pressed together like two puzzle pieces, he let’s the thought drift off into oblivion, all he wants right now is to take and give all he can.

They fall asleep with Tommy’s head on Philippe’s chest and careful hands running up over warm skin, forever mapping each other out by touch, and holding the other until their eyelids grow heavy and they fall asleep wrapped up like two strands of DNA.

Days pass and Alex is nowhere to be found- on the weekend Philippe and Tommy brave a walk around the area, their hands brushing in quiet parts of town and both smiling like little children exchanging love notes in class. Philippe can tell Alex’s reappearance and disappearance worries Tommy, knows it keeps him awake some nights, cradling Philippe like he feels lucky the Frenchman stuck around, even though Philippe knows he’d be lost without him.

They pass parks, they even pass the pub Tommy saw him at, but still the highlander is no more than a thought in Tommy’s mind, a dark figure in the corner of his eyes that’s always gone when he turns around. A part of Philippe dreads the worst for the other man, wants him to reappear and magically decide he wants help, wants to try and move on- move on from the failure he’s drowning himself in. the other part wants to forget him, forget him and live a fantasy where he and Tommy heal each other in their little oasis, where after all they’d been through they can take each day at a time and worry not about the creeping fear that perhaps tomorrow they’ll wake up and they’ll be on another beach, another Dunkirk.

They spend Sunday wound up in each other’s space, Philippe’s skin itches to be against Tommy’s and he claims the whole morning fulfilling that feeling, soaking in the other man, relishing the warmth and softness of his body, pressing soft kisses into the dip behind Tommy’s collarbone, the soft skin behind his earlobe. He whispers praises in his own language that Tommy couldn’t understand but made him smile all the same.

Half a week passes, Tommy gets a raise, it’s not much but it’s enough for the two men to celebrate, Tommy bringing some drinks home and the two lay against each other on the sofa, barely paying attention to the small telly between the bottles and each other’s mouths. They end up falling asleep there, and when Philippe wakes up at some ungodly hour of the morning, he carries Tommy to bed, crawling underneath the covers with him and wrapping his arms around the sleeping man, falling asleep pressed together from head to toe.

Philippe can feel something building between them, this feeling that everything is leading somewhere- every kiss before work, every embrace in the middle of the kitchen, it all leads to something, and Philippe doesn’t know what it is, but he tells himself he’s ready for it. He felt it that morning, had felt it all day as he wrote of his affections towards the other man in his journal, cheeks aching with his smile, one that never quite went away, just like the nagging feeling in his gut.

That night they eat dinner together, Tommy doesn’t meet his gaze, excusing himself as soon as he’s done and leaving Philippe rather clueless. When Tommy’s done in the bathroom, he washes the dishes, smiles despite it looking nervy and somewhat forced when Philippe hugs him from behind. Philippe announces he’s going to wash himself up and Tommy just hums.

He washes himself absent-mindedly, brain working to string something together out of the other man’s actions, try and find some reason for it all. The only thing he gets is the tug in his gut. He forgets to wash his hair before he gets out the shower.

When he exits the bathroom and finds Tommy in their room, their eyes meet and the silence that forms could be cut by a knife, the smaller man is sat on their bed, one leg crossed and the other hanging over the side of the mattress. Philippe could feel it in his gut again- the feeling that had been telling him something was coming, something between them was brewing and now it was at a head.

Tommy is the first one to move, standing up off the bed and slowly shuffling to where Philippe stood in the doorway. He comes to a stop in front of the other and pulls his sleep shirt over his head, the only sound is the uniform hiss of their breathing. Philippe lets his eyes sweep down over Tommy, over the freckled expanse of his chest, the ribs partially hidden under his skin and the dark hair scoring a trail from under his belly button down until the trail was cut off by the waistband of his pants. When their eyes met again the hazel of Tommy’s eyes has been engulfed by blackness, “bien?” he asks, and Philippe can feel his spine tingle at the way his voice wavers.

Philippe nods and then his shirt joins Tommy’s on the floor, it had barely been on for five minutes, he mimics Tommy’s previous question and he is met by an enthusiastic nod. This time when their mouths meet, he can feel the feverish heat to the other’s skin, and when his hands find themselves against the smooth skin of Tommy’s waist it feels like a current of electricity passes between them.

Hands slide lower and hungry eyes meet as Tommy and Philippe slide the latter’s pants down over his hips, Tommy’s lips look pink and plump as Philippe presses their foreheads together, pressing his mouth to the other man’s, bodies pressed together, skin against skin consuming Philippe’s senses and then Tommy’s pants drop and there’s nothing between them anymore.

He knows as he gently lays Tommy down on their bed that this won’t fix them, won’t fix the recurring dreams of drowning and waking up on that cold, grey beach, won’t take away the feeling that they could’ve done more. It won’t fix them. If they can prove to themselves, even if only for one night that they’re not broken, they are not their fears and their dread, that they are more, and can feel more, why not? Why not allow themselves this one primal human pleasure?

Their skin feels electric when it presses together, Philippe’s broad shoulders and back blanketing Tommy as they slot together, long-fingered hands clawing at the firm expanse as Philippe presses open-mouthed kisses to the length of Tommy’s throat, teeth meeting the skin enough to make the Brit squirm but not hard enough to leave angry red marks.

“Philippe” Tommy whined, and the bigger man had never heard him sound like that, sound so desperate for something, sound so needy for something that only Philippe could give him. Their lips meet in a messy kiss as the curly-haired man yanks out the drawer of the nightstand, hand closing around Vaseline that had sat relatively unused since Tommy bought it, now to have new life breathed into it as Philippe scoops out a thick layer onto his fingers, he presses a slick finger to Tommy’s taint, before sliding slowly down, he can feel blunt fingernails digging into his back and he pauses, when he asks if Tommy’s okay, all the brunet can do is nod and try to steady his breathing.

It had been a long time since Philippe had touched someone like this- had done something so intimate to someone, but he could feel the familiarity of it all fill his body and all he could think about was wanting to know what he’s doing for the other man- to please him and make him feel a pleasure nobody had made him feel before. He wanted to be good for Tommy, he wanted to be the best for Tommy.

Philippe opens him up slowly, watching his face all the while, stopping if it’s too much, and when his finger curls, he holds Tommy through the waves of pleasure, running his hand up into the younger man’s hair and pressing soft kisses up his cheekbones. God knows how much time is spent preparing Tommy, bringing him near to the edge with just three fingers, Philippe feels his chest shudder and stomach fill with butterflies every time that look of incomprehensible bliss washes over Tommy’s face. His cheeks are pink, and his mouth drops open, a whisper of a moan leaving his mouth as he tightens around Philippe’s digits, always asking for more.

Only when Philippe is absolutely sure he won’t hurt Tommy does he remove his fingers, reaching for more Vaseline as he breathes hotly into Tommy’s shoulder, coating himself liberally in the slick substance, cursing to himself in French at the touch on his ignored erection.

For a moment it feels as if he cannot breathe, sliding into the other man like he belongs there- like a homecoming, he stares down at Tommy’s face, teeth biting into red lips and eyes squeezed shut, forehead lined in focus, the Brit’s breath leaving in long, careful exhales. Philippe presses his temple to Tommy’s and continues to slide in as careful as his body could allow him until there was no more left to give. They lay there for a moment, breathing each other in, processing the myriad of sensations laid down upon both of them- for once their minds were free of darkness, wrapped up in one another and able to think of nothing else.

They moved against each other with fervour, nails scratching skin red and hands knotting hair, Philippe’s body felt wired, like he’d unlocked senses he’d never known existed. The energy building inside him felt like too much, like it would burst free from the tips of his fingers and toes at any moment.

He rotated his hips slightly and then Tommy was crying out, body pulling taut for a second as he came all over his and Philippe’s stomachs, body going limp as he came down, clinging to Philippe as the Frenchman arched his back to the sensation of Tommy clenching around him. Then just like the man underneath he came with a gasp, black dots blotting his vision and skin feeling almost too hot for comfort as he came deep inside the other man.

He barely had the strength to move himself off of Tommy, wincing as his softening cock slid out of the sated brunet. They lay there silently, eyes closed and hands open, palms pressed together. Philippe felt like he was floating, like if he took his hand away, he’d drift off into the sky. He only gets up when Tommy shifts uncomfortably, the come beginning to dry on his stomach, Philippe pressing a kiss to his cheek before carefully getting up off the bed, walking naked across the hall into the bathroom.

When he returns with a wet warm cloth he takes his time to clean up his partner, wiping his stomach and pelvis clean before dabbing at the trickles coating the inners and backs of his thighs, the man laying back’s breath hitching at the feeling of touch so close to his most intimate area- an area he’d let Philippe into, welcomed him practically. It felt like the greatest of honours.

He’d been right when he’d told himself engaging like that wouldn’t fix him, and it hadn’t, but he’d shown himself and Tommy that they could be more than the damaged soldiers, and right now that felt like all he’d ever need.


	5. V. Alex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You and I are not so different” Philippe said, Alex almost jumping out of his skin, whirling around and gripping the sink with a white-knuckled fist._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for skipping a day, been a little bit busy and been obsessing over the editing a little bit ridiculously, i feel good about this chapter (which is the second last but im debating writing an epilogue).   
> this chapter is alex centric but it's written from 3rd person objective, meaning there wont be many character thoughts, if any. i just felt like i needed to write the final chapters in this pov, hope it sounds alright.

Alex walked with uneasy steps, practically stumbling with each move, whether it was just the drink, or his nerves that made the wobbles worse was unclear. He palmed at his ear as if the contact would knock him free of the incessant ringing that filled his head. It was late and the unsurprised numbness of finding his apartment door locked had fuelled the stream of booze, whatever resolve he’d had that kept the drink away from his lips whittled down to nothing.

The brunet walked without purpose- with no home, no job and no money, what ‘purpose’ could he have left?

“Fuckn bullshit” Alex growled to himself, hand brushing a letterbox as he made his way through a front yard, only stopping when he could sit down on the stairs leading to the front door. He leant back against the door and stared out at the dark streets, perhaps sober he might’ve remembered where he was- where he’d taken himself when he had nowhere else to go.

But just like most things, he’d fucked up that as well.

The sun hadn’t even fully risen before Alex was awoken by the door he was leant against. It had been opened and the sleeping man had fell back with a loud thump against the floor. He grimaced, the drinking from barely half a dozen hours ago coming back to kick him in the arse.

“Alex?” Tommy stammered as the former groaned, rubbing at the back of his head, wincing at the feeling of the lump already beginning to form. He asked himself how the fuck he ended up here, out of all the places to wake up at. He hauls himself to his feet and almost falls over again- he would’ve if it weren’t for Tommy grabbing a hold of him.

Alex was brought into the house, a little dazed from the knock to the head but upset at his location all the same.

“What are you doing here?” Tommy asked, relief creeping into his voice that made Alex’s mouth taste even more sour.

“I’d like to know the same bloody thing” Alex grumbled as he was sat in a chair at the dining table. He turned his head, staring at the door, a look of wistfulness filled his eyes a moment, before he turned his head, swallowing thickly and blinking away the sting at the backs of his eyes. “Frog still here?” Alex asked and he didn’t miss the flash of something hot and threatening in the other’s eyes. The two men stared at each other as Tommy poured two cups of tea, he placed one in front of Alex as he took a seat across from the other man.

“ _Philippe_ is still here, yes- he’s currently go’ nowhere to go” Tommy’s voice dared Alex to question him, and Alex didn’t take the bait, instead nodding. “I’ve been looking for you- worried you’d done something terrible or something had happened- glad some part of you wisened up last night, even if it did take booze to get to that point” Tommy explained, and Alex stared blankly, ears straining over the racket in his head. Tommy had wrinkled his nose at the smell coming off the other man, but the quiet look of relief still floated in his eyes.

“Takes booze to get to most points” Alex mumbled, mostly to himself, staring at the tea and wishing it were something stronger. Tommy frowned, standing up again and rifling around in the freezer a moment before walking around Alex, the latter freezing until he felt the soft cool press of a cold pack to the back of his aching head. Wordlessly he reached back, his fingers resting over Tommy’s to hold the pack against his head. Tommy slipped his hand out from under Alex’s and returned to his seat on the other side of the table.

“You can stay here, there’s no shame in it- at least until you get back on your feet, Alex” Tommy looked across the table with wide, soul-crushing eyes, if Alex wasn’t homeless, broke and half-deaf he might’ve called it pathetic.

“Im not… it’s not going to work like that, your little rescue project isn’t going to work like that.”

There’s something on the tip of Tommy’s tongue, his lips twitching like it’s trying to break free into the silence between the two men. Alex looks down at his tea, staring down into it like he has the power to turn water to wine.

“One day- just… just clean yourself up and eat something and then you can leave and never come back” Tommy proposes, and his fingers are tightening and loosening around his cup, leg bouncing under the table. Alex doesn’t look at him, chewing the inside of his cheek, the cogs are turning but nothing works its way from his mouth.

There’s movement from upstairs and Tommy grits his teeth, Alex on the other hand doesn’t even acknowledge the noise, whether it was lost to the ringing or his train of thought was unknown.

Tommy stands up again, watching Alex, “think about it” he tells the other man, his voice carrying a hint of desperation as he turns and starts up the stairs in the direction of the noise. He knows what it is, and he smiles to himself, Philippe waking up, shuffling to the bathroom in his wrinkled pyjamas.

When Philippe is done in the bathroom he returns to their bedroom where Tommy waits, a warm smile works its way onto their faces at the sight of each other.

“How was the walk? Find anything?” Philippe asked, placing a hand to Tommy’s cheek and claiming his mouth in a soft kiss. For a moment neither moved away, Tommy enjoying the warmth off the other’s body, when they parted Tommy hummed, raising a brow thoughtfully.

“Didn’t walk, ‘anything’ found us” he explained, but Philippe looked confused. “Alex was sleeping on the doorstep” Tommy clarified and watched as Philippe’s eyes grew cloudy with thoughts and emotions perhaps the Frenchman himself didn’t understand. “I told him he could stay for a bit- he’s not having a good time” Philippe nodded but the look in his eyes didn’t go away, not even after Tommy wrapped his arms around the other man in an embrace.

Alex hadn’t moved, hadn’t looked up from his cup- the steam had died off a while ago, he dragged a finger around the rim, he could feel a faint heat from within the cup, but that too would disappear in a matter of minutes. He moved the hand from the cup to his neck, hooking fingers around the string still sitting there, dragging his hand down until he felt the cool rubber of the disks in his hand, he pulled lightly at them, string biting at the back of his neck. It was a constant reminder to him of his shortcomings, but he always kept it around his neck, hadn’t considered taking it off since he got off that train.

He sees movement from the stairs, and when he looks up it’s Tommy and Gibson- Philippe, whatever his name was for now. Alex clenches his jaw, looking away from Tommy’s gaze.

“Made your decision, then?” Tommy asks, Philippe making his way past the table to enter the kitchen. Alex hums but the sound is inconclusive. The icepack clutched to the back of his head has numbed his skin and covered his hand in condensation, when Tommy huffs and moves around the table to take it off of him Alex jumps at the warmth of the other man’s hands, pulling the hand formerly holding the ice pack into his lap as if he was burned.

As Tommy returns the ice pack to the freezer, he shoots a nervous look at Philippe, the dark-haired man pressing his lips together in a supportive smile. They pressed the backs of their hands together a second, aware of the man in the other room, before Tommy returned to Alex.

“Even this is better than homelessness” Alex muttered, finally looking up at Tommy, he clenched his jaw a couple times, looking away a moment before his gaze returned to the Brit on the other side of the table, “you’re wasting your resources, Tommy” he added, and didn’t take his words back, even as the other man frowned.

“You’re not going to be broken forever, Alex” Tommy assured him, but the words fell on deaf ears. Tommy sighed, reaching out to take the cold cup of tea away from Alex. “I’ve got work today but Philippe will be home,” Tommy explained, and grit his teeth at the furrow that works its way onto the other man’s brow. “C’mon, I’ll get you some clean clothes to change into- the water should be hot by now” he continued, moving around to place a hand on Alex’s shoulder.

The brunet shrugged the hand off harshly, but he got to his feet all the same. Tommy could see the stains and marks on the other’s clothes and wondered quietly to himself when the last time Alex changed clothes was. Perhaps if Alex could hear anything quieter than an outside voice he would glare, storm out maybe, but he couldn’t so he followed Tommy up the stairs, picking at the hangnails on his fingers as they went.

Tommy told Alex to wait in the hall as he walked into he and Philippe’s bedroom. Alex watched him go, eyes moving over the two beds- one unmade with two lots of pillows, the other pillow-less and wrinkled but made, he frowned to himself, thoughts running through his head as Tommy came out, mumbling something before walking into another room. He came back with an armful of clothes. “Sorry, these were my dad’s, been keeping them for when I can fit them- they should fit you better than o- my stuff” Tommy stammered, and the suspicious lines on Alex face only became deeper.

The water was indeed hot when Alex stepped into the tub, turning the shower on and letting the water fall over him, skin prickling with the increasing heat of the water but Alex only turning the cold on when his skin ached with the heat. He looked around at the products, considering them a moment but ultimately wrinkling his nose, water would do.

He got changed slowly, skin tingling as he put the clothes on, his mind turned at Tommy’s words- ‘was’ his father’s. “Wearing a dead man’s clothes and stealing resources because I’m too much of a fuck up to look after myself” he grumbled, slowly walking out of the room. He held yesterday- and the day before’s clothes in his hands, timidly calling out to Tommy, who came up the stairs to him moments later, taking the dirty clothes and leading Alex to a room.

“When you were here last you slept in my little sister’s room- figured if you plan on staying you might not be thrilled with that” Tommy explained, his hand on Alex’s elbow- a point of contact that the other man stared at as Tommy lead him through the house until they reached a rather plain room, but one that had a double bed in the middle, Alex chewed at the inside of his cheek, his heart thudding and skin on his cheeks heating.

“I’m not- I can take the couch, not planning on staying long.”

“No way, it’s fine, you’re havin’ a rough time of it, just let me help you the tiniest bit.”

Alex huffed, eyes falling back to the hand gripping his arm, “you’re already helping- whether I want it or not.”

Tommy frowned, turning to face him, staring up at him with those pleading hazel eyes, Alex swallowed thickly and perhaps if he could hear properly, he would’ve heard the click of his throat in the quiet of the room. “We need to stick together- it’s the only reason we made it out- I care about you Alex” Tommy stated like it was fact, doubt crawled into Alex’s mind, but he couldn’t focus on it over the fact that those eyes held his attention in a vice grip.

He nodded silently, and Tommy took his hand off of Alex’s elbow, Alex sucked in a breath like he hadn’t been breathing since the hand had been put there.

Tommy left the room, saying he needed to get ready for work, to ask for Philippe’s help if he needed anything. “He’s gotten really good at English, Alex” Tommy had gushed as he left the room, and the pride in his eyes was enough to set the highlander aback a moment.

“Alright, he’s in my mum’s room- furthest room from us” Tommy declared as he sat down at the table, Philippe having made him toast while he sorted out the third man.

“Planning on being noisy?” Philippe asked with an innocence that made Tommy’s lip curl upwards.

“Never know” he replied, before taking a bite of the crispy bread. When they finished he went upstairs to brush his teeth, he started out the doorway as he brushed, as if expecting Alex to appear and announce his departure at any moment, announce that Tommy’s help wasn’t any good all over again and leave the Brit with a sour taste in his mouth that no toothpaste could overpower.

But he didn’t and when Tommy checked on him, the brunet was already asleep on top of the covers.

After Tommy left, Philippe made his way out to the garden- Tommy had picked up some seeds from the grocer’s after work recently to give Philippe something to do during the day until he got his accent under control enough to job search without raising any suspicions. He stared up at the window to the room he knew Alex was staying in, his features twitching and twisting as he battled the thoughts filling his head- each harbouring a different emotion than the last but all of them making him conflicted and confused all the same. He sighed to himself and continued watering the small sprouts, if he used his imagination, he could almost see them straightening up, welcoming the water despite the overcast gloom the town was covered in that day.

He did housework after that, changing the sheets to he and Tommy’s bed, cleaning the kitchen, talking to himself quietly, trying desperately to shake his accent in favour of Tommy’s, he knew it was a fool’s errand and told himself as such, but sighed and kept trying nonetheless.

He wasn’t sure how many hours it’d been since he’d seen Alex, but when he heard movement from upstairs, he’d nearly jumped where he was wiping the dining table- not used to being home at this hour with someone else in the house. He paused, listening as quiet footsteps made their way from the far end of the house towards the stairs, he watched the top of the staircase as the sound grew closer, until a head of dark hair and tattooed arms appeared, rubbing blearily at green eyes as if Alex had just woken up.

Philippe tensed as Alex made his way down, hand sliding along the bannister as if the other man was unsure he was structurally sound enough not to fall down them, Philippe swallowed thickly as Alex stopped, looking up at him meekly.

“Water- can I have water” Alex asked, his voice rough and unsure, as if he didn’t like talking to the Frenchman, or felt unnerved by it.

Philippe nodded, unable to find his voice as he walked to the cupboard, pulling out a glass and filling it with tap water, walking slowly towards Alex, holding out the glass when they became an arm’s length from each other. Alex reached out gingerly, one hand cupping the bottom and the other sliding over the shorter man’s fingers as he took the glass from him. He drank quickly, downing the glass in a matter of seconds as if he hadn’t drunk water in days. Perhaps he hadn’t.

When he was done one cupful, he slowly made his way past the other man, taking it to the sink and filling it up once more, before greedily downing it. he placed it down in the sink after, keen on getting back to his room when Philippe spoke up from behind him.

“Do you want lunch? It is nearly time” he asked, and the sound of his voice stopped Alex dead in his tracks. The brunet didn’t respond for a moment, staring ahead like he was the one that at one point couldn’t speak English.

“If you’re offering” he answered finally, not turning to look at Philippe just yet. “Tommy has you well trained” he muttered under his breath, and he convinced himself that even with two working ears no one but Alex himself could’ve heard the comment.

Alex hovered in the lounge room, staring down at the sofa, where the two pillows both sat squished together up one end, another coincidence to a long line of coincidences. Turning away he offered to help but was instead refused each time.

“No- you are a guest” Philippe insisted in a distracted, thickly-accented tone.

“For now, at least” Alex mumbled, and had turned back around, expecting that to be the end of the conversation.

“Tommy wants what is best for you- you should stay” Alex furrowed his brow, his heart thumping heavily in his chest a moment till he could see the thin material of his sleep shirt shake. Faced with the truth, Alex would always run- but there’s nowhere to run now, not in sleep clothes and barefeet.

“I am staying.”

“You should stay”

Alex turned around and was met with the hard stare of the man across the room. The same words spoken but both with different meanings. Whether it was a calm plea or a thinly-veiled threat remained to be seen, and what could’ve been hours passed between them before Philippe turned around, picking up the two plates and bringing them to the table.

Lunch was awkward, quiet. Philippe shot loaded looks over the table that Alex couldn’t meet, he ate quickly and never looked up from his plate, the other man had the sense not to even attempt conversation. He’d moved to put his plate in the sink and was standing with his back to the dining table when Philippe spoke up, and suddenly he was right behind Alex.

“You and I are not so different” he said, Alex almost jumping out of his skin, whirling around and gripping the sink with a white-knuckled fist.

“I don’t sneak up on people.”

“We did not like each other and yet we went back and saved each other’s lives- we are both failures in our own rights, but unlike you I move on” Philippe spoke and Alex felt dwarfed, despite being almost a forehead taller. He had learned.

“Very productive of you” Alex stammered and watched Philippe squint at him as if perhaps something was lost in translation.

“We are more than our failures, Alex.”


	6. VI. Alex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You don’t owe anyone redemption, don’t owe anything victory… but you owe it to yourself to heal” Tommy murmured, reaching out again, only to be met with the same flinch, he could see Alex’s hand suddenly tighten around the disks hard enough to make his knuckles go white._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not totally happy with this ending. originally this fic was made purely so i could write the smut shown here but then i kind of turned into something else. i'm going to write an epilogue at some point to close this out properly. thank you to those who have stuck it through to this point, you're all legends

Tommy returns in trepidation, his steps that bit quicker than usual as he makes his way home, he squints into the house through the uncovered windows, trying to spot any hints as to whether Alex still _graces_ them with his presence. He can see the changing colours of the tv reflecting off of the window and he picks up his speed, shoes scuffing against the cobbles and kicking through the untrimmed grass as he finally reaches the stairs to the house, opening the door and letting his eyes flicker around wildly as he looks for any hints to how many men are currently in the house.

“He is still here- have not seen him since lunch” Philippe announces, standing up from where he’d situated himself on the couch, making his way over to Tommy with an easy smile that the Brit replicates, accepting the other man’s outstretched arms. His coat is speckled with wetness, the water cold against Philippe’s skin. Rain.

“Did he eat anything? Say anything?” Tommy asked, pulling away from the embrace and pressing a chaste kiss to the other man’s lips, pulling his coat off with barely contained excitement.

“Lunch- he was not in a talking mood” Philippe told him, pursing his lips at the lie as it escapes him, Tommy nods, watching the other man a moment before he makes his way up the stairs, “you sure you can convince him? To stay?” Philippe asks then, staring at Tommy with wide green eyes, a colour that’s similar but different to Alex’s, a lot like most things between them.

Tommy swallows thickly, throat clicking, and he hesitates a moment before nodding, wrapping an arm around Philippe’s shoulders and pulling them together a moment, foreheads together, “thank you” Tommy breathes, whether the thank you was for him staying, or him being the only rescue Tommy’s managed to actually help was foggy- perhaps it was both.

Tommy eventually lets go of the other man, smiling tight-lipped at him before turning and starting his way towards the stairs, behind him, Philippe did not follow, just stared after the Brit. Tommy’s nervous when he finally reaches the door to Alex’s room, and his hands shake before he quietly knocks on the door, when he receives no response he knocks again, calling out softly. When he opens the door, concern lining his face, he’s met with the sight of Alex curled in the middle of the large bed, looking tiny despite the fact that the broadness of his shoulders had seemed suffocating in Tommy’s experience.

“Alex? Are you awake?” Tommy asked, moving slowly towards the bed, he can see now that Alex clutches his identity disk in his hands, staring blankly at the two disks as if trying to decipher something other than the information printed on them. “Are you okay?” Tommy asks, pressing his lips together, adding an “it’s okay if you’re not” when he’s met with silence.

“I’m not more than my failures” he mutters, and his voice is worn and ragged like he’s been crying. A crease forms between Tommy’s brows and his hand reaches out automatically, the Brit catching himself and pulling the arm back against his side.

“What?”

“Even without that fucking beach I was a failure- still am- no job, no fucking house, nobody” the two men knows what he means by ‘nobody’- nobody to come home to, nobody to hold him and convince him otherwise. It’s been argued already that Tommy doesn’t, and might never fit under that category of a somebody.

“Alex… you’re not- we’d be lost without you.”

“I tried to shoot him- held a fucking gun to his face and said he deserved to die- the tried and true fuck up told him he deserved to die.”

Tommy couldn’t help himself then, he sat himself on the edge of the bed, arm reaching out across the seemingly vast sea of blankets until he could reach Alex. His hand touched a shaking shoulder and Alex flinched away as if Tommy was burning hot. Tommy didn’t miss the ‘don’t touch me’ that was hissed almost vehemently under Alex’s breath.

“You saved him Alex… you went back and risked your own life at the chance of saving him” Tommy grimaced as if he was in pain, as if the talk of failure and letting people down opened up old wounds, wounds that nights wrapped up in warm arms couldn’t close fully. Might not ever close fully.

Alex didn’t respond to that, just lay there, whispering so quietly to himself that Alex strained to hear himself over the ringing in his head.

“You don’t owe anyone redemption, don’t owe anything victory… but you owe it to yourself to heal” Tommy murmured, reaching out again, only to be met with the same flinch, he could see Alex’s hand suddenly tighten around the disks hard enough to make his knuckles go white.

“Fuck off”

Tommy swallows thickly and his eyes glisten, he get’s up silently and leaves silently. Alex may not be a failure but in Tommy’s eyes he himself was.

Alex doesn’t move long after Tommy leaves, his eyes flickering along the expanse of bed in front of him, processing, thinking through the haze filling his eyes and the insistent ringing that had him shaking his head like he had water stuck in his ears. He doesn’t go down for dinner, despite the quiet rumbling of his stomach filling the silence of the room. He chews the inside of his cheek, glancing over the disks, thumb brushing over the name printed on them, he blinked back the slickness in his eyes as he threw them away, the small bundle landing quietly somewhere on the bed out of his field of view.

Philippe comes in when the sun is well and truly down, and Alex doesn’t pick up the other’s presence until he can see him and smell whatever’s on the plate he places on the nightstand.

“You can be better than this” Philippe says sternly, placing the plate down with a ‘clink.’ He stands there, staring at the curled-up man. “Get up” he then presses, and Alex looks up at him with red eyes, there’s a commanding tone in the other’s voice that makes him flinch like he’s been hit, but he hauls himself up into a sitting position all the same. Philippe sounded like a commander, and maybe that’s what made Alex move- the ingrained instinct to obey and you might survive a day kicking back into gear after so long dormant. “Good- eat” Philippe leans back against the wall and nods to the plate, watching Alex and despite the harsh tone to his words his face is almost concerned.

Alex eats slowly, despite the fact that he has to keep one hand against his stomach to try and soothe the hunger pangs borne from not eating since lunch.

“You can’t tell me what to do, frog.”

“You might get rid of Tommy, but you cannot get rid of me- we are the same, remember?” Philippe reminds him, shaking his head slightly and Alex swallows his mouthful thickly, clenching his jaw, he refuses to look up at Philippe as he eats. Philippe’s hands are shaking where they’re hidden by the crossing of his arms.

When the plate is empty, Philippe reaches out and collects it, nodding to the other man before making his way back towards the door, “baby steps, Alex” is all he says before the door closes and Alex is left on his own once again.

The following couple days go much the same, Alex wakes up late enough to miss Tommy and has a shower, eating whatever Philippe puts in front of him. However, on the third day Alex requests a paper, and Philippe gets him one.

“Looking for a job?” he asks and Alex nods, wordlessly flicking through the paper. “Want to leave yet?” the Frenchman asks then, and the brunet looks up at him, two similar but different shades of green meeting and Alex can neither shake his head or nod, his neck feeling completely frozen like he’s been filled with cement.

“That’s what this is isn’t it?” Alex mumbles “you lot grooming me so I can leave you and not have to ever come back” he adds, and Philippe stares, eyes calculating. Perhaps there were some things he hadn’t learnt yet, the discovery made Alex smirk to himself.

Alex finds some promising prospects, Philippe sharing the fact that he’d love to get a job if his accent wasn’t such a risk to him. Alex nods through the conversation, carefully pressing his fingers to the paper as he tears out the jobs he doesn’t mind the sound of- there’s plenty, “not surprised” he whispers to himself.

He leaves the house immediately after he finishes his lunch, staring down at the paper scraps, some were within comfortable walking distance, others would leave his feet aching and blistered but if it was his only choice Alex convinced himself aloud that he could do it.

There must be something in his face, in the paleness of his skin or in his demeanour that leaves the employers sour mouthed, he isn’t left with high hopes by the time he returns. War-torn, haunted boys weren’t good employees, too volatile, too wild-eyed from the horrors they’d faced.

“Without my fucking sacrifice this shop would be no more than rubble” Alex growled to himself as he stormed away from his last attempt.

Staring at himself in the mirror he can see it- graveness in his eyes that makes the green look sickly, he’s got darkness under his eyes that a few days of sleep cant fix, he looks frayed, no doubt thanks to the house being devoid of the one substance he’d relied on a little too frequently since Dunkirk, no doubt contributing to his shit mood. His shit everything.

He finds himself curled up in bed again, staring blankly at the wall, trying to listen to the inhale and exhale of each breath over the ringing in his head. Tommy comes in later, asks him if he’s showered- if he’s feeling okay. Alex doesn’t respond, he tugs at his clothes as if he’s suddenly become aware of how unclean he feels, he purses his lips like he’s considering a shower. He hasn’t got the fight to try and get rid of Tommy, so he pulls himself to his feet and waits for Tommy to find some more clothes in a box in the corner of the room.

He turns the shower on hot, like it can bring colour back to his skin, make him look human enough to hire. It doesn’t work.

He leaves the bathroom and the aroma of cooking food fills his nose as he returns to his room- he sits down carefully, his skin still pink and angry under his clothes from the scalding heat of the water. He doesn’t bother going down for dinner, can barely hear the call for food, he stares into the mirror, eyes and mouth twitching, fingers poking at tired, gaunt features. He’s been eating and sleeping but his health under the skin weighs him down, making him look sick and disgusting and he can’t stand to look at himself. His fists clench as the door opens, and Philippe is there, a somewhat disinterested look on his face- he’s getting sick of bringing Alex food and Alex can’t blame him.

“How many times must we do this?” Philippe asks, frowning at the man standing and glaring at the mirror. He places the plate down and turns, manoeuvring Alex to sit on the bed before handing him the plate. “You tried- that is an improvement- even if it did not work” Alex frowned around the mouthful like Philippe’s words soured the food.

He swallows thickly and inhales deeply, looking up at him. “How do you cope? Your fucking country is on the brink of annihilation, even if you’d stayed it wouldn’t have changed nothin’” Alex spits, like all his frustrations of the day have been simmering in his veins up until this moment, his anger bursting free and bearing down completely on the other man.

“I look after myself- I…” his eyes flash like he’s caught himself just in time to hide a secret and Alex straightens, standing up slowly and placing his plate on the dresser, their eyes meeting.

“You what, frog? What else do you do with no job and your one friend?” Alex asks and like a dog he’s gone straight for the jugular, his forehead lines in a frown and his teeth bare with every word. Philippe doesn’t flinch, whether it’s poor translation or something else, he just stares.

“I do more than you do- one of us is better off and it is not you, Alex.”

Alex dumps the plate on the mattress, standing up in front of the other man, Philippe is shorter and he knows it, but the burning in his eyes might convince you otherwise. “I knew it- I knew there was- you’re a pack of fucking fairies, aren’t you?” Alex spits, the pillows, the pillow-less bed. Alex had known there’d been something off about them from the moment they pulled him out of the churning water and onto the mole, but recent events had really put together the final pieces. “What’s your healing method, Gibson? Buggering that poor kid downstairs? The kid you latched onto since you first laid your eyes on him?” the use of the name Gibson finally makes Philippe flinch, his eyes glinting as he clenches his jaw, Alex takes a step back as if expecting the other man to hit him.

“Why are you here then? If you knew” Philippe challenges and Alex closes his mouth with a clack, his green eyes are alight with a volley of emotions, mostly of the bad kind. “If you knew we were ‘fairies’ why did you come back?” Philippe steps forward this time and Alex moves to back up, the height difference doing nothing to help Alex as his heel hits the end of the bed, stumbling a moment but determined not to fall against the mattress. “Because you are not as disgusted as you like to think- you are terrible at pretending and you are even worse at convincing yourself otherwise,” Philippe’s voice is harsh and Alex feels mute under the assault of the other, when Philippe storms out of the room it feels as if he took all the oxygen with him.

That night Alex lies in bed trying to ignore the knocking that fills the house, dulled by distance but still audible even to the half-deaf. He fists his hands in his sheets and pretends he can convince himself he wants to leave, rid himself of these clingy fucking fruits and look after himself.

Alex leaves in the morning and Philippe doesn’t bat an eye, tells Tommy not to worry about it and helps the other man scrape together breakfast.

He couldn’t stay away even 24 hours, because the suns barely sunk into the horizon when the two men are watching telly and find the house filled by a knocking from the front door.

Tommy knows who it is before he even opens it, and the second he does he’s engulfed by firm arms, the impact almost knocks Tommy over, his arms flailing out to cling to Alex out of fear of falling. “Are you okay? Are you drunk?” Tommy asked, holding the other man as he buries his face into Tommy’s shoulder, behind them Philippe stands silently, watching, waiting.

“No- got no money to be fucking drunk” Alex whines and even though he’s not crying, he isn’t far from it. “I’m sick of being a fuck up- I’m sick of feeling like shit all the time- you tell me to move on but I fucking can’t, I can’t even hate you lot for being…” his voice is pathetic as he trails off, muffled by Tommy’s sweater and constantly mangled by whimpers and whines. Tommy strains to look back at Philippe to find the other’s face pinched by guilt, or something like it, “I can’t hate you because I’m the most pathetic fucker this planet has to offer” he sighs like it’s a fact, and it makes Tommy gasp out a breath like he’d been hit.

“You’re not- you can, it’s just hard- you’ll be alright Alex, you just need to lay down and calm down, c’mon” after so long of trying to convince Alex to admit it to himself, to try, when faced with results Tommy finds himself floundering, trying to carefully pry Alex’s arms from around him to walk him up the stairs.

“I don’t have what you have- I’ve got no one, not even me” Alex explains with a pitiful pitch to his voice, clinging to one of Tommy’s arms as they make their way up the stairs, Tommy’s face furrows in confusion, his cheeks heating as he pushes the door to Alex’s room open, sitting him down on the bed.

“You’ve always got you, Alex” Tommy kneels, taking Alex’s shoes off, Philippe is at the doorway, watching them, meeting Alex’s gaze for only a moment before he has to look away. When Tommy is done with both of Alex’s shoes, he taps his calf, telling him to lay down and stop working himself up. He’s straightening up to leave Alex be when a hand shoots out and grab’s him by the wrist, Philippe takes a step forward behind him- a threat of action if harm befalls the younger man.

“I want to feel anything fucking else, Tommy- it worked for you” Alex suggests, his tone bordering on pleaful.

“’It’?” Tommy repeats, shaking his head “Alex, nothing ‘worked’ for me, nothing will fix you overnight- whatever you’re thinking, it’s not going to magically stop you from hating yourself- won’t make your life suddenly turn around…” Tommy trails off, sucking in a long breathe through his nose, “if you’re talking about what I think you’re talking about, it won’t fix you- it’s momentary prevention, not a cure, you really shouldn’t- you need time.”

Alex stares up at him and Tommy swallows, the cogs turn behind those green eyes and his eyes are almost spilling over when he talks next. “Please… I can’t… I need to try- if I can’t… I’ll go anywhere for the chance to… to try” his voice is no more than a whisper and when Tommy looks back at Philippe the other man’s face is downturned in sympathy.

“Wait here, Alex, calm yourself down” Tommy mumbles, rubbing at a shoulder that flinched under his touch despite the words flowing from the other man’s mouth. He walked towards the door and dragged Philippe out with him.

“Bien?” Philippe asks, his voice sounding deafening in the otherwise perfect silence of the hall outside. Tommy shakes his head, heart thumping heavily in his chest.

“He doesn’t know what he’s asking- surely he doesn’t… it took us… took us longer than that to even think of- of shit like that” Tommy stammers, rubbing a hand up over his face, “I want to help but at what cost? What if this makes him worse- does he even know what’s good for him anymore?” Philippe stares, no clue- Tommy’s making no sense to him.

“We have to trust him?” Philippe suggests, “I trusted you” he adds and Tommy chews on his lip, he looks torn as if the weight of all his effort he’d put in for a result, anything, has drowned him.

“What if we make him worse?”

“He can not be worse than what we have seen” Philippe points out, letting his hands rest on the sides of Tommy’s face, eyes baring into the other man’s. “If he wants to try, we should let him try” Philippe’s voice wavered, they could both feel the weight of the other’s plea sitting on their shoulders, and when Philippe let the word ‘bien?’ leave his mouth, he told himself he knew his own answer as Tommy nodded.

They re-enter the room and Alex turns, looking at them with a surprised raise to his brows, it’s perfectly silent.

“If you change your mind… tell us, Alex, please” Tommy finally mumbles and he can hear the shaky intake of the other mans breath fill the otherwise silent room.

Tommy and Philippe join Alex on the mattress, sandwiching the shaky man as they pull their shirts over their head. Their eyes are glued together as they share a kiss overtop the highlander, the latter watching with bated breath and a look of hope neither had seen in his eyes in all the time they’d known him, it stilled the rapid beating of their hearts for a few relieving moments.

Alex is quivering when Tommy slowly pulls his shirt off of him, his skin warm but covered in goose bumps when their naked flesh touches. Tommy smooths a hand over the side of Alex’s head, pressing his mouth to the opposite ear, “just relax, s’ the only way this’ll work- just tell us to stop if you feel scared” he whispers and Alex’s body quakes with a shudder at the sensation of the other’s breath against his ear, Philippe’s hands are sliding down the planes of Alex’s stomach, caressing low on his belly, teasing the top of his v-line in a way that has Alex squirming, squeezing his eyes shut and pawing at his pants, tugging at the drawstring until he can wriggle out of them.

Tommy and Philippe exchange another kiss as Alex fights out of his boxers, cursing to himself quietly over the sounds of the other men’s lips moving together.

Tommy shucks his pants and underwear in solidarity, not letting self-consciousness get the better of him before he wraps bony fingers around Alex’s half-hard erection, squeezing and sliding his thumb over the head until Alex is erect and leaking, lubricating the slide of Tommy’s hand up and down.

“You still okay?” Tommy asks, voice barely more than a whisper and for a second he thinks Alex hasn’t heard him.

“Yes- yes” he gasps, as if his throat is suddenly too tight for his own comfort. The movement of Tommy’s hand pulls a high-pitched whine out of the highlander, who reaches out to grab anything- anyone. A hand lands on Philippe’s shoulder and he squeezes hard enough to leave red fingerprints. Philippe makes a sound low in his throat at the sensation, reaching across the flushed body of Alex to reach down and take his partner’s cock in hand, stroking firmly and evenly watching the Brit’s face twitch and move with each twist of Philippe’s hand, it leaves him almost as breathless as Tommy himself.

Hot breath hits the side of Alex’s neck and he grabs a fistful of Tommy’s hair, fingers tightening in the strands as the brit speeds up the jerk of his hands. Alex is flushed pink from forehead to groin, his eyes blinking open a few times only to fall closed again whenever Tommy swipes his thumb or Philippe ruts against Alex’s thigh and hip. The movement leaves smears of precome up the flushed skin, the hand wrapped around Tommy jerking in time with the thrust of his own hips, their eyes meet for a moment and unspoken words pass between them- perhaps a declaration that this doesn’t change them, perhaps a declaration that this does and it’s okay, they’ll handle it.

The lines of the muscles in Alex’s stomach stand out with each arch of his back and convulsion brought on by pleasure, his fingers tighten almost painfully so around the locks of Tommy’s hair in his grip. Sandwiched between the two all he can do is breathe and take it. Philippe pants words into his ear that Alex cannot comprehend and with barely a gasp in warning the pressure inside his body bursts free and he’s coating his stomach and Tommy’s hand, his throat stings with the ragged moans ripped free by his own climax and then he falls limp, limbs heavy and body fuzzy and warm.

Philippe’s leaning across him and connecting his mouth with Tommy’s and all Alex can do is watch as their hands grab each other’s erection. They’re tugging and twisting in almost perfect rhythm until they’re both nearing the end, movements growing jerky and erratic and their kisses turning into nothing more than hot breaths against each other’s mouths and then they’re both making similar sounds of ecstasy and coating the hand that grips them.

Alex stares up at the ceiling, mouth open in a continuous pant as the other men fall back against the mattress. It’s silent until Tommy speaks up from beside the Highlander, “remember- this? Not going to fix you, Alex” he murmurs, voice scratchy and low from exertion and the tiredness weighing him down. When Alex turns to look at him there’s something in the green of his eyes that raises the brow of the younger man. “Are you okay?” he asks timidly as Philippe gets to his feet, leaving the room, Tommy barely spares a look at him

“All things considered? Yes”, Alex mumbles a hand drifting up to rest against his chest, like he’d been expecting to grab something- identity disks. “Thank you” he whispered, eyes still stuck to the ceiling.

When Philippe returns with a warm wash cloth, Tommy and Philippe meet each other’s gaze and they stare wordlessly at each other like a gaping ravine between them has been filled.

“Baby steps, Alex.”


	7. VII. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is- the official final chapter, thank you to all those who've stuck it through. i'd like to thank Ruby again, for proofreading the finale, you're literally the best (also if any of yall like collins/farrier and slow burn, check out afternoon, a literary and historically accurate masterpiece). thank you to all those who've commented and kudos-ed, without your kind words i would've chickened out 100% you've made this possible.
> 
> before we get in, the date at the beginning of each letter is the day it is written, but it takes around about 10 days for letters to get from point a to point b, so that explains the gaps.

_7 th September 1940_

_I hope this letter reaches you in good health, I hope my absence has not left you two to languish. I hope Phyllis does not miss me too much, I know you’ve never been one for it, but I would appreciate if you gave her a hug for me._

_I know you’re likely a little mad still, but I know I will never truly forgive myself if I don’t help my country in her time of need. Even if I feel impossibly far away now._

_It is rather hot down here- you should see how brown I’ve gotten, I’ve only been here a week! It’s nice down here, until the shooting starts, that is- but it’s the same with most things, isn’t it?_

_How has your life been since then? I can imagine you swooped in right after I quit in the approach of my deployment, I hope the job is treating you well, how is Phyllis? Does she have some of the same luck?_

_I miss you both, but it’ll be over before you know it._

_Please write back if you can,  
Tommy._

The arrival of the letter came almost as a surprise, it had been almost three weeks since Tommy had shipped out, leaving behind the family he’d made himself in the form of his comrades. It had been tough for the few days after he’d left, Philippe had taken it about as well as Alex suspected he would- having existed around them for near on six months he knew there was something truly incomprehensible between the two men, when that was pulled apart by ocean? It was, in a word, messy.

Alex had promised Tommy the night before he left, he’d keep an eye on Philippe- he was still in unfamiliar territory and they’d done too much for Alex for him to refuse. Alex was no empath, all he could do was pat Philippe’s back and tell him Tommy was fine, and that it was the latter’s turn to help himself. He wasn’t sure whether his words helped, but Philippe learned quickly how to keep himself together.

But even with his faux composure, Philippe had almost lost it over the letter, over the sight of the other man’s handwriting, over his words- over the pen name they’d given the Frenchman to keep their romantic relation legal. Their story was flawless in theory- Tommy was writing to his best friend, barred from war by injuries sustained fighting another battle- that part was true, at least- and his best friend’s sister, Tommy’s lover. Philippe hadn’t warmed to this ‘Phyllis’ role he was assigned, but he’d understood once he stopped begging Tommy not to go, once he pulled his face from Tommy’s chest long enough to listen.

Alex ended up having to pry the letter from Philippe’s hands, long, firm fingers gripping the paper like he’d gripped his partner before he left. Alex did the writing, for Philippe was not adept at writing in the English language yet, and he figured the other man couldn’t stop himself from covering their response in his tears if he could write. His fingers shook with each word, but he felt his stomach churn with anticipation- perhaps Tommy leaving wasn’t the end of their communication after all.

_17 th September 1940_

_Tommy, your letter took quite some time to reach us, almost thought you’d forgotten us. We haven’t forgotten you- we’re not languishing as such, but Phyllis is being dramatic enough for the both of us. She accepted the hug very enthusiastically, with all do respect, don’t ask that of me again._

_Phyllis’ handwriting is shocking as always, but she’s got some words for you- gross, sappy words._

_Tommy, I’ve found employment, yet it’s a celebration I feel I cannot honour with your absence, I understand your desire to help your country, you always were loyal to a fault, but it hurts to live my life without you- a life once made so much bearable with your presence. I’ve never been religious, and you know that, but I do pray to whoever will listen, Alex says it’s stupid of me, but what else can I do? He does not understand love like we do, we’re similar in every aspect except that, such a flaw but one I will have to deal with if I don’t want to go insane. I miss you, be safe. Phyllis_

_Typical of her to besmirch her own blood’s name while I can do nothing but nod my head and copy it down. I have also found work, you were right in your assumption I stole your job the second you resigned, too good of an opportunity to pass up- though you never quite mentioned the noise, I feel my hearing has only gotten worse, why did you never mention it?_

_I worry for you, but you’re a small target, a feller would have to be lucky to hit you across a battlefield. I may not understand the desire to return to war- even if I was healthy enough to do so- but I trust after helping so many people, you understand how to help yourself, no matter if it makes no sense to the rest of us. By the time this letter reaches you I wonder if you’ll yet be fighting, remember to clean your rifle, jamming helps nobody._

_There’s been some bombings here- really heavy in some places, haven’t seen anything like this since they started, don’t worry about us, we’re fine at the moment. I’m serious, don’t panic, I’ve family in the highlands that I’m sure will take us in if things get serious._

_Don’t make any new best friends while you’re away,  
Alex and Phyllis._

_28 th September 1940_

_By the time your letter reached me I’ve been here almost a full month, the odds are so out of balance this war feels almost too similar to another. We’re not struggling as much as I feared we would, but we’re all starting to feel the pinch._

_Your letter made me rather happy to receive, for a while I feared I might not get it, time seems to stretch on while I wait, even when shooting at the enemy. You’re right, I am quite a hard target._

_I’ve never known Phyllis to worry, not even for her own brother- perhaps it is you who is worried? Stranger things have happened. I have my own words for her, please ensure she gets them._

_I never truly appreciated how involved you were in my life until I left you- it is hard to sleep without you most nights, I miss the mornings we spent together just existing, our routine provided me so much comfort, I miss it dearly now almost as much as I miss you. You should celebrate, I’m sure Alex would help you do so- though if you do, keep an eye on him, you know how he gets carried away sometimes. I apologise for leaving you with him, but you like you said, you’ll likely rather need each other. I pray to see you again as well, we are just as stupid as each other in that case, I don’t mind being stupid with you. I love you, Tommy_

_Perhaps you should hand the pen to Phyllis, I much prefer her soft words to yours- I am only jesting, you may be harsh but you’re the voice of reason I suppose, funny that._

_The noise can be quite intense sometimes, though I quickly invested in some ear plugs- perhaps you should do the same._

_Your trust in me is appreciated, I know in my heart that no matter what harms that befalls me cannot be worse than the feeling that I could’ve done more while I returned to normalcy whilst others continued to fight, I am doing what is right by being here, I am sure of it._

_You must think me a terrible friend if you think I could manage not to worry for you, please don’t be heroes, if they’re close still, scatter, I’d rather no house than no friends. Please be careful for me._

_I won’t,  
Tommy._

_10 th October 1940 _

_We’ve heard little of the numbers you’re facing, or maybe we have and Phyllis and I both missed it- I tent not to invest in the papers, too much fear-mongering for me, I’m afraid. If it’s similar at all to previous scuffles then you know you have the savvy and the luck to come out the other side once again, my friend. Keep your head down and your aim true and you shall be fine._

_I agree with the distance, it makes you seem further than ever, perhaps once upon a time I wouldn’t’ve cared for it, but I do, and it is hard to imagine how far you are, stuck on a whole nother continent in a whole nother climate. I can see it on Phyllis’ face that she feels somewhat lost without you, you’d become quite dependent, hadn’t you? To think I’d thought it foolish a few months ago, perhaps I’m just not meant for it, needing someone so much- you know I’m not, and I’m also not worried, Phyllis has changed, I swear it._

_It’s getting colder here, I suppose it’s only getting hotter where you are- Phyllis is coming down with a cold and she’s making sure to be appropriately annoying about it all- acting like she hasn’t gone through worse. Typical. Your letter only made her more emotional, aren’t you two a perfect pair? Don’t let her get you distracted, she will be fine, even if she acts like she’ll die without seeing you- but I can imagine upon your return she’ll drop at the sight of your apparent tan- you’ll have to beat the ladies off with sticks they’ll be all over you. You won’t know how to handle it all, I imagine._

_Tommy, your clothes by now have stopped smelling of you, it was a comfort I didn’t appreciate as much as I should’ve, Alex is over more often than not, but he is neither soft nor sweet as you are, he doesn’t understand the routine either, I am spotting more differences between us as the days pass, the amount is almost laughable. You should see his grimace every time he writes my words for me but refuses to hand over the pen. We did not celebrate, by the time your letter reached us my excitement was dulled, now I am just like everyone else, though your letters and your words make me smile more so than I did upon entering the workforce. Alex and I, despite our growing differences, are each other’s saving grace, we’d be well and truly lost without each other, even if once we were perhaps the least likely of friends, even with our shared blood. I guess we have you to thank for that. Loving you immensely even with distance, Phyllis._

_Face it Tommy, without me you would’ve been toast many a time, you need me to keep your head out the clouds- especially with Phyllis’ tooth-rotting words, I’ve told her to hold off so you don’t get rather sad but she’s perfected the art of acting like she’s not understanding me, a little bit childish if you ask me._

_I’m not sure if I prefer the loud noise, or the dullness of the noise and the immense ringing that replaces it._

_You’ve always known what you wanted Tommy, that’s why I’m still alive._

_Happy October,  
Alex and Phyllis._

_30 th October 1940_

_I know by the time this letter will reach you you will likely have assumed the worst, but it has been rather busy here, the enemy just keeps coming, there’s so many and our numbers feel more pathetic than usual, there’s talk of action on its way, no sure how I’m feeling about it. Everything feels so familiar. I’ve tried many times to write to you, but every time I sit down it’s time to stand up and fight again. Perhaps I shall finally get a letter written now._

_This continent is unlike anything I’ve ever felt- sweltering days and freezing nights, a lot of us aren’t used to this, the ones that are find our discomfort amusing. Least they have something to laugh about._

_It hurts to hear Phyllis misses me so much, but I too know that feeling all the same, except there’s two of you to miss for much different reasons. You’ve been a pain for most of the time I’ve known you, Alex but you’re one of my best mates, I imagine we shall never part from each other fully, not even now. I would tell you of my unending desire to see Phyllis again, but I imagine you get enough of that from her when you write these letters. Perhaps she has changed, we all did a bit, I’ve been absent for quite some time, what do I know?_

_Existing in such heat feels like a never-ending fever, believe me. I swear I can feel my insides shrivel and turn to dust, my fingers burn quickly whenever I hold that rifle, at least we’re not in wool anymore. I imagine I myself may drop when I see you two- hell, maybe you’ll look alive and well when I see you, Alex?_

_Phyllis, when I sleep on those few rare occasions I can I dream of you, simple things like your smile, your eyes, your voice when you’ve just woken up- I fear if I’m here any longer I may start to forget. I should’ve paid more attention to such things. When I read these letters, I try to recall your voice, how you’d say your sweet words, sometimes I trick myself into thinking you’re here reading them to me. The lads like to laugh at me, at the way I smile when I read the letters, when I read about you, they don’t understand, they could never. You may have some things to thank me for, but the credit is all yours on the matter of my sanity down here. Missing you, Tommy._

_I cannot blame her for acting misunderstanding of you, but believe me, my head is very much out of the clouds, I cannot afford it being elsewhere, but your grounding words are appreciated. You’re owed as much thanks as Phyllis is._

_I’m unsure when I will be able to get back to you, things seem to be moving quickly now, do not panic if I fail to respond within two weeks._

_Happy soon to be November,  
Tommy._

_9 th November 1940,_

_You were right, we’d been starting to worry by the time your letter found us, I put on a brave face for Phyllis but she’s a fiery one and can see right through me, always could. She all but celebrated when I put the letter on the table. Neither of us had worried you were dead before we received that letter, but your written words have become such a part of our lives we could only feel a little aimless as time dragged on. I’m sure you understand._

_We’ve been avoiding papers and radios even more after your last letter, you will be fine- you will be. In time things will slow back down and you will wish you worried less._

_It’s cold all the time here, cold and overcast, you will hate it when you get back, will miss the sun when your tan slowly dulls back to white. I promise you that._

_Believe me when I say you and Phyllis are both pains as well- your desire to help people nearly drove me mad and sometimes, I wonder how she puts up with you and all your righteous bullshit. I’ve endured too much torment from you just to lose connection with you one day, I’ll be hassling you until they bury us, and that’s one thing that will not change._

_Fuck you, I’ve always looked alive, just perhaps not well._

_Tommy, I’ve never been one to cry but your words continue to move me, I pray you never forget those things, but I promise I’ll be with you soon enough to renew them for you. Don’t fret, you’re not the only one surrounded by people who never could understand, Alex rolls his eyes every time I so much as say your name, maybe I remind him too much of how he’s missing you, he does, I can tell, he’s always been more of a friend to you than me, typical. My heart grows fonder for you every day, Phyllis._

_I’ll accept your thanks over a pint when you get back._

_Happy November,  
Alex and Phyllis._

_21 st November 1940_

_I do understand, but I’m afraid the letters may only come fewer, something is definitely coming, something big, after so long of the same, I’m hesitantly excited for new orders, we’re still unbelievably outnumbered, but I have faith this change of plans may be a favour to us._

_I think my tan will be the least of my worries when I return, rather I’ll be worried and I’ll return to my house having been turned upside down with you and Phyllis still stuck together- you do know you don’t have to live there still?_

_Hopefully we shall not have to wait to long to be buried, I’d like to see you keep to your word._

_Phyllis, I’ll hold you to that. Don’t pester Alex, for his own sake. He may well just up and leave, and what will you do then? Go crazy you would. Hopefully you won’t have to coexist with him for much longer, if all goes well I’ll be out of this country in no time, perhaps get some leave to see you, I have dreams about it- seeing you again. Soon to be reunited, Tommy._

_I will accept said pint if you promise not to get out of control._

_Missing you both,  
Tommy._

_30 th November 1940_

_Something big? Last time I heard something like that all hell broke loose, I hope it is not the same for you. Keeping optimistic is smart of you, I can’t imagine I’d feel the same, but I suppose that’s what makes you a better man than me in most aspects, don’t ask me to take that back, I’ve been looked after by you too many times to accept otherwise._

_Your house is in order, at the current moment anyway. I have my own place, sure, but I care too much about you as a friend and a comrade to leave Phyllis on her own too much. We get along fine, and this is coming from the disagreeable one._

_At the time I write this letter, Phyllis is sick once again, winter has seemingly come early and she’s been struck down with a rather harsh cold, nothing like the previous one, she’s been sleeping a while and though I know she’d appreciate putting in her usual two cents, I’m not going to wake her. Even I’m not harsh enough to wake a sick person._

_I would never get out of control_

_Stop being a sap,  
Alex and Phyllis._

_10 th December 1940_

_It has happened, I cannot explain it if I wish this letter to be posted without big blacks scores all over it, but something has happened, and it is as in our favour as I’d hoped. It has been all rather full on since it started, but I can see the tides turning very quickly. This is a joyous letter, Alex. I’m achieving what I came to do- to help our country and helping her we are._

_You’re a good man Alex, and don’t bother fighting me on it, you’ve come a long way._

_I’m sad to hear about Phyllis’ ill-health, but she’s been through worse, she’ll probably be better by the time this letter reaches you. Tell her I miss her correspondence. Please._

_Grow a heart,  
Tommy._

_19 th December 1940_

_Stay safe, Tommy, keep your head down and aim true, don’t be too much of a hero, that’s never good for anyone. I’m glad to hear you’re fulfilling your dreams and whatnot, but please be bloody careful._

_I’ll fight you on it when I see you again, that’s a promise._

_Tommy, I’m sorry to have missed our last letter, I’m feeling much better again and I’m relieved to hear you feel positively about everything that is unfolding down where you are, but like Alex says, be careful, please. I fear I could not live without you, it has already been trying enough with you away for so long. Praying for your safety, Phyllis._

_Don’t lose your head,  
Alex and Phyllis._

It’s been three weeks since they’d posted their last letter, Alex has been keeping a strong front but Philippe has been restless. They’d been getting along pleasantly since Tommy left on his slightly foolish quest for self-fulfilment all those months ago, but their ‘friendship’ was mostly built on not letting each other languish.

This chummy brother sister duo they’d made up for the sake of correspondence was happy and flawless and Alex grimaced as he read through it but knew the cheeriness of the letters could keep Tommy’s outlook good. He needn’t know the simmering tension between the two men whenever the letters were late. They likely would never be friends, comrades, yes, but never friends. You didn’t usually trust the person who’d shoved a gun in your face, no matter how many times they save you, some connections were never fully rebuilt. Did this count as saving each other once again? Saving each other from soul-swallowing loneliness?

But they had the letters, they had Tommy’s words to bond over, as much as they could, at least.

Letters that were now late, neither of them mentioned it to one another, knew nothing constructive would come out of it.

When the house is finally filled with the sound of knocking at the door, Alex half suspects there’ll be a box of Tommy’s belonging and a KIA document waiting for him on the other side.

He sees the splint first, then the uniform, and by the time he reaches that sun-browned face he’s almost convinced he’s hallucinating.

“What lucky bastard managed to hit you?”

**Author's Note:**

> i've actually finished writing this so ill be posting one chapter a day, please leave a comment/kudos, this thing kicked my arse and it would mean the world to me.


End file.
